Five men are huddled around a table in a flat in Castle Combe. They're in the middle of a game of chess. The black and white pieces practically vibrate with the tension. One man is blond, slender, with brown eyes that glint with green in the light and clothes a size or two too large. This is James Zervallis.
Across the table top, his opponent; short dark hair, heavier, and undoubtedly in a luxury suit. Glasses cover his eyes. James doesn't know this man's name, he doesn't care for it either. The other three are merely blurry figures (James works with them at the bar). James’s brow is creased, concentrating on the wooden, checkered, chessboard.
Sirens rush by on the street, they act as a metronome to his thoughts. The opponent slowly lifts his fleshy, brown hand, picks up the black queen delicately with his fingertips. Hesitates slightly before placing the piece in its new place. As he pulls back, the man's hand has a noticeable shake in it. His flesh radiates, perhaps with excitement.
The man settles back into himself, and his chair. James can suddenly smell the cologne of the other men in the room. Versace, Dior, and Armani... The sirens screech. They stop. They screech again. They stop.
His thoughts come to an end like an elevator door opening, his mind empty and his body moving without his permission. He picks up a piece. He holds it, hovering above its new spot. Check.
There are two sudden and aggressive raps on James’s door. This sound is more insidious than the sirens. The piece clatters to the floor. It echoes as it bounces, the men watch it. James lifts himself out of his seat to pluck the piece off of the floor and places it on the edge of the table.
He pulls himself to the door. The men watch intently until James is around the corner and out of sight. The three dogs trot next to him. He turns the doorknob that's been worn down after its many years of service. There is a woman standing in front of his door. He blinks in surprise. He’s taken aback by her presence. She has a colorful dress on and a bright smile playing across her lips.
“Hi! I'm Lily,” She sticks out her hand, and James, blindly shakes it.
“My sister lives across from you,” Lily continues quickly. “She's getting engaged tomorrow and- of course she doesn't know, but I got these really wonderful flowers from this special florist but my sister can't find them beforehand. So… I was wondering if I could store them in your flat?” James looks down at the large bouquet sitting in a bucket next to her.
“She's so nosy, and she really doesn't mean any harm,” The woman continues rambling and James is cataloging every word, “but it would just be horrible if the surprise was ruined. It would just be for the night. I will get them first thing tomorrow morning.” She finishes and looks at him, awaiting his response.
James just stares.
When he doesn't respond, leaving an awkward silence drift in between them. She smiles at him impatiently.
He doesn't speak. He simply turns around and goes back into his flat, and fishes his spare key from the bowl on his dresser. The woman is still standing there when he returns, clearly unsure if she should walk through the open door or stay put. He presses the key into her hand, and as her face contorts into confusion, he grabs the bucket and shuts the door.
He’d be working early tomorrow and wouldn't be home to open the door and the woman could still get in. Win, win for everyone. As he returned to the kitchen, the men questioned his bucket. He ignored them and set it on the counter. He looked at the actual flowers clearly now. They were beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the woman who brought them.
Soon, the four men made their way out, back to their own lives. James settled himself on the couch with his dogs.
***
When James gets back in the afternoon, the bucket from his counter is gone and there's a note in its place telling him that she “didn't want to leave the key unattended so stop by whenever to pick it up :)”.
He has no intention of getting his key back, but he puts the note by the door. He didn't need the spare key anyways, and it would be too much trouble to get it back. Dragging himself to the other apartment just to interrupt the newly engaged couple? He doesn't want to ruin their day (or make the short trek over there). He’d rather read a book. And so he does.
***
Three days pass. James has forgotten about the key, despite passing the note every morning. He reads it in the morning as he makes his way to Mary and Janes (He works there as a cordwainer, designing and crafting unique shoes).
When he first moved to Castle Combe, he had been intrigued by the odd shoes in the window, and when he started a conversation with the owner, Fleamont had offered to teach him. James had accepted and now he's been working there for the past 7 years. Every day from 12 to 4:00. Sometimes he comes in early if he is working on a very passionate project.
He’d go home after, to the dogs. The dogs used to be strays and had somewhat adopted him. They had followed him around town for a week before he finally let them in. His shift at the bar starts at 9, lasting until 2. He doesn't need the money, which is just an extra bonus, but he gets by on his Mary and Janes salary. James finds thrill in watching the people in the bar. He meets so many interesting people, having atrocious conversations and doing terrible things. He never bothers to learn their names even when they invite him to dinner the next day or he invites them back for chess. Outside of work, he doesn't do much besides spending a lot of time with the dogs and occasionally cooking with Fleamont.
He moves through those three days as if he's walking through molasses. He thinks about the woman without realizing it. Is she still with her sister? or What does she do for work? Does she have any dogs? Does she even like them? Does she know his name? Probably not, but he remembers hers.
***
On the evening of the fourth day, James is sitting with the dogs on the kitchen floor. He's reading them a book that he’s already read fifteen or sixteen times. The door rattles. One knock. Two.
He stands slowly and makes his way to the door, dogs in tow. Much to his surprise, there's the woman again. There's Lily again. The molasses clears and there's an icy clear feeling in his chest.
She immediately crouches down to the dogs as soon as the door opens. She holds her decorated hand out to them. Her shirt doesn't have sleeves allowing James to see the tattoo snaking up her arm and onto her shoulder. Her fingers are adorned in golden rings with small colorful stones. Her brown hair looks so bright as small curls cascade over her shoulders and back.
He waits for her to acknowledge him. When she does, she's already sitting on the floor with two of the dogs' heads in her lap, the third laying in front of her. Their glowing yellow, black and brown hair intertwines well with the colors set in her jewelry.
“You never came back for your key.” She looks up at him.
“Oh.” He blinks, “I must have forgotten.”
“Right…okay,” She laughs, confused, “Well, here.”
She hands him the key and the metal sizzles on his skin. A sense of doom floods through him. She sets to turn around, a soft smile playing on her lips. Before she fully takes a step, she spins back to face him.
“Wait-” She's cut off when she sees that he hasn't tried to close the door. “Since you helped out with the proposal, would you be interested in coming to the wedding? It's Monday. Next week. It's got kind of a summary theme.” James doesn't protest so she continues, “I'll come get you at 4:30.”
He nods and she dances down the hall, hair flowing like water behind her.
***
James leaves at 9 for Mary and Janes. He sits down in his rackety leather chair with a crooked desk and continues on his sketch. The shoe’s body is light blue, with small green flowers patterned on it. The heel consists of three circular plates that stack together to reach 4 ½ inches. The shoe is only ankle-length and its laces resemble springs. He’s working on the top part as Fleamont walks in. The same man who gave him this job, almost a decade ago.
He sets two bowls on the table and pulls up a chair to sit across from James. The soup brings such a pleasant and warm scent of nostalgia (and hunger) to James’ head (and stomach). Anything Fleamont would cook, turned out so incredibly delectable.
“I see someone's back at work again,” Fleamont lets out a hearty chuckle, the same one that Santa Claus would have.
“What can I say, I could smell that you were cooking from my flat.” James puts aside his papers and pulls the bowl closer to him. Steam warms his face.
“How’s that life of yours? Still non-existent?” No matter how old Fleamont got, he never ceased to tease James.
It's so easy to chat with Fleamont. He could do it all day and they almost do, they talk about anything and everything like a father and son would. Home was not a warm thought for James, but Fleamont made him reconsider that. Fleamont was family. At least, he was as close to family as James would ever have again.
They talked for so long that soon, they were standing in Fleamont’s flat, cooking dinner together. Though, eventually and regretfully James has to excuse himself to get to the bar in time for his shift. He hasn't gotten any work done today but Fleamont would pay him either way. Besides, he will come in early tomorrow to make up for it.
***
James is standing by the inside of his door, wedding gift in hand. It's 4:23. He's been standing here since 3:04. He’s dressed in a black suit with a floral tie. His shoes, he made a while back. They're normal black dress shoes, but they have small flowers interspersed to match with his tie. He's not nervous. Why would he be?
He blinks and there's a knock. He opens the door expecting Lily, instead receiving a man in a dark tux. The man lures him out of the flat and down to the street where a glossy car is waiting for him. He sits in the back, admittedly disappointed that Lily wasn't at the door. Though, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. He wasn't her date or anything. James had just been invited as a form of reparation.
When they pull into the venue, James looks around in awe. There are small candles that have yet to be lit lining the pathways from the church to the dance floor. The dance floor itself is a masterpiece. A mosaic floor of stained glass depicting two women floating in a sea of colors, laying over an underground well. Lights come up from the bottom to accentuate the colors. The table tops around the mosaic are filled with alternating flowers of all sorts. Fairy lights hang from the trees, and even though it's not dark enough to turn them on, James can already imagine…
He walks through the group of workers still fluttering around, finalizing small details. Some guests are already here.
Lily finds him quickly. James almost chokes when he sees her. Her golden hair is wrapped in on itself, coils of braids and an intricate set of strings woven through her stacked curls. The dress is a simple light blue, with ruffles starting at her thigh, rushing down to her feet. James notices offhandedly that she's not even wearing shoes. The straps of the fabric run over her shoulder delicately and attach dangerously to the fabric directly under her arm, leaving her back exposed. Her skin is carefully sculpted around the bones of her spine and shoulders. Stretching to keep them together and covered. He imagines pressing his hand on her back, feeling her soft flesh give way under his touch. Skin not only bending for her bones, but also his palm. He then notices the words spilling under the dress. The tattoo first looks like a poem. As James gets closer, he starts to make out the words;
I used to see the future and now I see nothing
They cut out my eyes and sent me home packing
To pace around the kitchen for scraps of inspiratio-
The dress starts and the words end.
He recognises the song. It's the same one his mother used to carry around with her soul. She would dance to it, and if she wasn’t dancing, she would cry, the music lulling in the background.
After his father broke their record player in a fit of his rage, James had learned the song. He sang it to her as she went about her day. It always earned him a lovely smile and sometimes a slurred spin around the kitchen. He remembered singing it to her as she bled out in his lap, by the hand of his father. Soon, though, the boys grew up and avenged their mother.
The words were engraved in Lily like fate. This would be the closest thing James would ever get to believing in destiny.
Lily stops and drops his hand abruptly. She greets a strange woman, exchanging pleasantries. She pulls his arm gently to bring him forward, into the conversation. Her fingertips prick him like needles filled with energy. Her touch, an easy replacement for caffeine. God, if she was his, he would never drink coffee again.
“James,” She gestures to him, “Meet Maria. Maria, meet James.”
James smiles at the other woman as she starts asking him questions about his work and telling him more than he wants or needs to know about her husband. Somewhere in the middle of this, Lily excuses herself to converse with some other guest.
The woman drones on, none of the words she utters are of any substance. James just continues nodding and smiling, hoping she's not asking him anymore questions since he couldn't tell you what this woman was blabbing about if his life depended on it.
He starts to look around for Lily. The woman seems to be appalled that he's getting distracted, so he excuses himself for a drink.
James strolls over the bar, grateful to be rid of that woman and eyes still searching for his Lily. Before he can even exchange one word with the bartender, he spots her.
She’s dancing. Dress flowing behind her. She's dancing and she looks so free. He doesn't notice the smile creeping onto his lips. That kind of beauty, her beauty can only be achieved by the divine. A tune spinning around her lungs, tipping over into her heart.
The song ends and she comes to a still point. Fabric spinning out behind her. She laughs and it's so beautiful, spiritual in a way. Like their souls are connected. She laughs and-
There's a hand on her back, slipping under the edges of her dress. Covering the words.
James doesn't know what happens after that but next thing he knows, he's sitting in a white chair, watching the ceremony. The couple is younger than he expected. He can't see their faces. They just have blank, empty skin where their face should be and James has a horrible feeling in his gut that the Groom is dead. Where’s Lily?
James shoots up out of his chair. Everyone goes silent. Slowly, heads turn to him. They're pointing at him, one by one. He doesn't dare move as the Bride and Groom slide down the aisle, hand in hand, towards him.
“Your Fault. Your Fault. Your Fault.” The audience harmoniously spits at him, fingers in his face. He’s seen this happen before- Some book- or- or movie-
He trips over his chair, in a sloppy attempt to get away. He falls. Weightless for a second. Instead of hitting the hard floor, he lands on his bouncy bed.
Coughing, he pushes himself up. The dogs look at him, confused. It wasn't real.
“Fuck.” He lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
The dogs climb in beside him, snuggling tight into his body. James is alone with his thoughts. Recounting an awkward dream.
***
It's 9:30 pm that same Saturday, which means James is working. At least, he should be working. He's not, he's late. The car door slams behind him as he rushes to the back door, the flaking green paint crumbles in his hand as he hauls it open, to slip inside. Hopefully his absence has gone unnoticed. As he's tying a black server apron around his waist, the scent of cheap liquor that's stained the fabric after many previous spills wafting around him. He completes his messy knot after dropping the strings at least four times. Quickly, he pushes out of the peacefully lit backroom and into the darkness of the main bar, flooded with enough flashing, throbbing lights to give a baby deer epilepsy.
But as soon as the door is fully open, the noise hits him. Usually, he is shocked at the sheer volume of the pounding disgrace some might call music. Right now, he's hit by the lack of music. It attacks him harder than the blasting speakers do, because something is horribly wrong.
Yelling soon replaces the silent void of doom in his head. There is a crowd in the middle of the floor and he sees his co-workers pushing through to the middle. James steps around the counter and dissolves into the crowd. He is unaware of his body, but just aware enough of his mind to know he is fighting his way to the center. People are shouting nonsensical words and phrases. God, this is why he hates going to clubs. He always loses himself in the commotion.
James shoves sweaty arms out of the way. He steps on people's feet like a clumsy dancer. He gets to the middle, prepared to separate a fight and-
And there's a boy. Maybe just 20. Convulsing violently on the floor. One of the other bartenders is holding the boy on his side. Trying to keep the boy from choking on his own vomit. Vomit or foam. It's hard to tell the difference and-
“Oh my god-”
The shaking doesn't stop. It only gets worse. The boys bones are vibrating and-
James can't move.
And now it's quiet. It's quiet and the boy has fallen limp on his back. But it's quiet. It's quiet. It's almost silent. Everyone stares. Not one sound. No one moves. It's completely quiet.
Quiet. Quiet. Quiet.
A girl steps back in horror. It's not quiet anymore. It's quite loud now, actually. James is not sure what's worse.
The girl’s makeup is smeared down her face and she coughs on her tears. She screams and cries harder than James knew was possible. She drops down next to the boy and grabs at him frantically.
The crowd disappears as they are scrambling to get away. Shouting and screeching away from the sobbing girl and the poor boy.
Except James. He just stands. He’s unsure of what to do, so he lets the woman cry and scream. He allows himself to look at the boy's face for just a second. The second turns into a minute and…
He looks just like Sirius is all James can think. That boy looks exactly like James’ brother. Sirius. He looked the exact same in his death. Sirius. Sirius.
James doesn't feel it when he does it, he turns around. He steps slowly towards the door as if in a dream. His vision, milky and spinning into itself. His throat burns. His head burns. Everything burns. Still, none of it registers.
He’s still in his apron when he reaches the door. He pushes into the cool night air. Dry grass crinkles as he steps. The ambulance hurtles down the street, paramedics jumping out before the truck has even come to a stop, rushing into the bar. Their black duffel bags swing behind them.
James can't bring himself to pass the ambulance to get to his car and even if he did, he wouldn't be able to drive it right now. He keeps walking over the cracked sidewalks that crunch and cut into his shoes. He walks faster and faster until he's running. Wind cradles his body as he runs, and he wants to curl into like it's a mother’s embrace. But his mother is gone, and he can't stop now. He runs and runs. His heart beats out of his chest until he trips over the edge, and then his steps come mindlessly. Body on autopilot, at its climax. His thoughts shut off and he's a mindless being weaving through the streets like a ghost.
He’s passed his flat 3 times before he finally goes in. He shoves the key into the lock, he's going as fast as he can but the key isn't working at the speed he would like. His shaking hands fumble with the handle. He’s crying now, rattling the key and his door. He’s inside now. Sitting on the floor. Wailing like a baby bird.
Even his dogs don't know how to help him. James is stuck to mourn this stranger, and his brother all over again.
***
James wakes up early the next morning still on the ground by the door. The sun isn't up and the dogs are still asleep. The apron is still adorned on his body, a reminder of last night's events. Imagines flood into his head and run in front of his eyes.
He pushes himself to get up and to the kitchen table. He drags the apron away from himself and hangs it over a chair. His clothes hand loosely off of him and he trots around the stove lazily. He cooks. He cooked for the dogs; 1 ½ cups brown rice, 1 tablespoon olive oil, 3 pounds ground turkey, 3 cups baby spinach, chopped, 2 carrots, shredded, 1 zucchini, shredded, ½ cup peas, canned or frozen.
He repeats the ingredients in his head.
He made Consommé (1 cooked chicken carcass, skin and fat removed 1 medium onion, [skin on, halved], 1 large carrot, roughly chopped, 1 stalk celery, roughly chopped, 1 clove garlic [unpeeled], 2 sprigs fresh tarragon, 5 sprigs flat-leaf parsley [leaves and stalks], 1 bay leaf, 8 cups cold water [more to cover], 3 large egg whites, 3 drops Kitchen Bouquet [or other gravy-browning liquid], Kosher salt, [to taste], Freshly ground black pepper, [to taste]).
Afterwards, he couldn't stop. He made Béarnaise sauce (¼ cup butter, 2 large egg yolks beaten, 2 tablespoons heavy cream, 1 tablespoon white wine vinegar, 1 ½ teaspoons lemon juice, 1 teaspoon minced onion, 1 teaspoon dried tarragon, 1 teaspoon chopped fresh parsley, ¼ teaspoon salt, 1 pinch dry mustard, 1 pinch cayenne pepper.).
The bar calls and they tell him they are shut down for the next week.
He went through the cookbook scavenging the flat for the ingredients. He wanted a bigger challenge: Baked Alaska. Vanilla Ice cream, Egg whites, Cream of tartar, A pinch of salt, A cup of white sugar and white cake.
He scrambles to start. He feels almost giddy. It’s almost 2 in the afternoon when he jumps up and quickly calls Fleamont to let him know James isn't coming in today, he has just started a Baked Alaska! Fleamont seemed concerned, and offered to stop by but James brushed him off.
He quickly regretted this after he hung up and strolled into the kitchen. Coming in just in time to see his Baked Alaska slowly rip itself apart. James stared at it for a bit.
He cried. He cried and cried. He cried and he couldn't stop. And god, was this pathetic, but he couldn't help it. He kept crying. The phone rang a few hours later. He didn't pick up, he just wept.
Eventually, the door pushes itself open and Fleamont joins him in the kitchen. They sit together, not speaking, James weeps. Four hours later, Fleamont brought James to bed, sitting with him until his red, puffy, eyes closed.
***
That next morning, James wakes and comes into the kitchen where a completed Baked Alaska sits on his table in front of Fleamont, who is reading a newspaper.
“Good morning, son.” Fleamont smiles up at him and puts the paper to the side, rising to get forks. “Sit. I know they say not to have ice cream for breakfast but they won't know.” Fleamont winks at him and James is so, so grateful for him. He tries to smile but his face is swollen to the point it looks more like a puckered grimace. They dig into the Fully Formed Baked Alaska.
Fleamont stays long enough to help James to get ready for the wedding. He also helps reduce the swelling of James’s eyes with some magical substance he brews in 30 minutes, pulling the ingredients out of his satchel. Fleamont goes when James is all set and ready, claiming his “work here is done”.
And so, James is standing inside his door, wedding gift in hand. It's 4:23. He's been standing here since 3:04. He’s wearing a black suit, a white dress shirt and a floral tie. His shoes, he made a while back. They're normal black dress shoes, but they have small flowers interspersed to match with his tie. He's not nervous. Why would he be?
He blinks. No one knocks.
He waits.
It's 4:40 now.
Now it's 5:00.
5:30.
6:30.
7:30.
James sits down on the couch, still listening intently for a knock.
8:30.
9:30.
10:30.
James is starting to get stiff, but he refuses to go to bed and miss a knock.
11:30.
12:30.
There must be some reason she hasn't come for him yet, but she's still coming to get him.
1:30.
2:20.
It's 3:30 now and he begins to accept the fact that no one is coming to get him. Defeated, and too exhausted by nerves to wonder why. He lays the gift on the table, before falling into bed in full wedding attire. Maybe she got bored of him. Bored of him? No. There was no “him” to her. He was just the man who lived across from her sister. There was nothing special about him to her. How could she have remembered someone so insignificant? James had been so foolish. He let himself believe that she was everything he’d ever need.
Foolish. Foolish.
“Stay still, you foolish little boy! You know nothing of the world!” His father snarled at him. James pushed Sirius further behind him, both of them cowering at their fathers words. “Your mother does not care for you! You will not care for her!” Their mother sat crumpled in the corner, forehead bleeding and arm bent, in an attempt to protect her boys. James wanted to spit in his face and call him out on his lies. “Do you understand me?!”
“Yes.” James whispered.
“What?!”
“Yes! I understand you!” you stupid fucker, James thought to say but stopped himself.
His father seemed to see it in his eyes anyways. He struck James, and he fell hard to the ground. He watched his father hit Sirius even harder and dragged the little boy's limp body into the bedroom where the door slammed shut before James blacked out.
***
It was Friday and James was leaving with the dogs for a walk to the grocery store. He locked the door behind him. He only got two steps in the hallway when he saw the woman. She was leaving the apartment of Lily’s sister. The woman had a similar hair color than Lily, but quite different features. The woman didn't carry herself with the same grace and carelessness. Her clothes were plain: a dark blouse with black pants that jumped down to her ankles in steps. She looked a little older than Lily. Perhaps that was the bride. As the door was closing, James could hear faint wails coming from within.
“Are you Lily’s sister?” He blurted out before he could stop himself.
The woman jumped and looked at him curiously.
“Pardon?” She had a slight accent but James couldn't place it.
“Oh sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I'm a friend of Lily’s and uh- I just was wondering if you were her sister?”
“Sister? You must mean Petunia, you know. Oh no, but I am a friend of Petunia.” She turned around again to lock the door.
“Right. Okay, um- Do you know where I could find Lily?” His dogs stood awkwardly, waiting for him to keep walking.
“What? Lily went home, you know.”
“Home where?”
“Wellington. New Zealand.”
Oh.
“She left a day right after…all of this,” The woman shakes her head, “The sacrifices we must make for work, you know.”
“The wedding was good then?”
“Wedding? Oh, Honey, didn't you hear?”
“Hear what?” This woman was starting to frustrate him.
“The Groom passed.” She tilted her head, a bit puzzled.
“What?”
“The Groom, he died. Alcohol poisoning they said. At some crappy bar in some trashy part of town. Quite a tragedy…” She paused, shaking her head again, “Poor Petunia had to watch the whole thing, you know. Huge seizure. God, it must have been brutal. They never got to their wedding day. He was so young, too, you know. Lily tried to help as much as she could but Petunia is beside herself, as one would expect of course. A good friend never leaves, you know, so here I am, to help as much as I can. Such a sweet boy too.” The woman shakes her head again and continues. James cant hear her anymore.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
They just have blank, empty skin where their face should be.
James has a horrible feeling in his gut that the Groom is impossibly dead.
“Your Fault. Your Fault. Your Fault.”
There's a boy. Maybe just 20. Convulsing violently on the floor.
The boys bones are vibrating and-
The boy has fallen limp on his back.
A girl steps back in horror.
The sobbing girl and the poor boy.
She drops down next to the box and grabs at him frantically.
He looks just like Sirius.
Sirius. Sirius. Sirius.
4:40.
5:00.
5:30.
6:30.
7:30.
8:30.
9:30.
10:30.
11:30.
12:30.
1:30.
2:20.