The entirety of Chapter I
Working title: With Warmest Regards
(Written more just prefer to release the whole thing at once instead)
Upon the embrace of a late spring afternoon, one Dr. Matthew J. Ames, M.D., Ph.D., found himself sauntering with an air of initial nonchalance along the aristocratically vibrant streets of London. In a lover's caress, his fingers dallied with the velveteen textures of burgeoning green carnations and lavenders, themselves audacious interlopers in the urban sprawl. He leaned, ever so slightly, to partake in an olfactory repast — the scents a symphony of spicy, clove-like notes, interwoven with the reserved sweetness of floral undertones; an aromatic reverie, reminiscent of cinnamon's embrace, mild yet unyielding in its presence. Such petals, bold in their incursion, adorned the gates of an estate he frequented, a realm known yet enigmatic in its familiarity, its grandeur a whisper from history's depths.
Dr. Ames embodied strength, not merely in the corporeal sense but as an ethos. His visage was marked by a formidable brow and a physique that seemed to challenge the very fabric of his attire. His ensemble bore the essence of tobacco—a scent not so much worn as carried, a testament to years of tempered indulgence. Though designed for a gentleman, the attire bore the scars of time and toil; his coat, once a vibrant burgundy, now whispered tales of past grandeur and present weariness.
The man took out the golden pocket watch from the chain attached to the inside of his vest to check the time before he stared down those horrid gates, his mind filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Yes, Matthew was a strong man in every sense of the word, but as he stepped against the gravel and up to the ornate door of the estate… he felt weak as ever, unsure of what state of living he would find inside. The suspense was palpable, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared to face whatever awaited him.
The thick air with the scent of blooming flowers became a stark contrast to the fear that gripped Dr. Ames. Placing a hand on his chest to feel his heart as it thumped. His face flushed, and his hands trembled as he approached the ornate silver doorbell. Taking a deep inhale of the floral scent that momentarily distracted him from his anxiety enough to - with a trembling hand - press the doorbell. A weight finally lifted from his chest at the sound of the bell echoing through that quiet estate.
Before Matthew stood quite a sizeable wooden door, weathered by time and neglect, rugged, chipped wood against the doctor's fingers. Moving along to feel the carvings that jutted in and out of the wood that created swirling, intricate shapes that began to strain one's eyes if you examined it for a bit too long, all this emphasised to Ames - the threatening aura seeping from the wood whilst also inviting, a succubus lurring its next victim. The door now opened slowly, letting out a horrific, grating creak as it did. The sound resounded through the hushed estate, a sound that sent a shiver down Dr. Ames' spine.
His heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat.
“Hello?” A voice uttered through the gap between the entrance and the wall, his face obscured by shadow, tiny, spindly, spider-esc fingers wrapping around the wood's frame. “Who is it?” The voice, though muffled, carried a hint of curiosity and caution. Dr. Ames' hand, still trembling, reached out to grasp the doorframe for support.
“It- It’s Ames, dear. Could you open the door a tad more? It seems awfully dark in there.”
“Matthew!” Exclaimed the voice in excitement, now flinging the entrance open entirely, almost harming the other in its enthusiasm. And now, standing in the soft sunlight of spring, fully lit up and grinning from ear to ear, was Victor Barret, Matthew's long-time friend and confidant despite being a mere lad of 20 - yet his condition would easily convince one otherwise.
Victor, a self-proclaimed academic, was a sight that stirred deep concern in Dr Ames and surely any other who came to see him. His dishevelled appearance, from the pronounced bags under his eyes to his cravat hanging loose and his hair in disarray, hinted to Ames the toll his studies had taken on him. This was the Victor that Matthew knew so well, a brilliant mind often consumed by his work. However, there was something more, something that Dr. Ames couldn't quite put his finger on, that had led Victor to this state. It was this mystery that kept Matthew on edge, his concern growing with each passing second.
“Come in, come in! Oh, how I've missed you, Matthew!” Victor's voice was filled with joy, and his actions were quick and eager as he moved aside, now shuffling his feet that sat in undone dress shoes, to lift the blinds and let more of that spring light flood into the room, a gesture typical of his cheerful and naive nature. His eyes, usually bright and full of life, now held a hint of exhaustion, which Ames took as another sign of the toll his studies had taken on him.
The room, adorned with off-white floral-patterned fabrics that hung before every window, was bathed in the soft spring beams as Victor flung them aside. The sun's rays glistened in, illuminating the two men who stood side by side one another and reflecting off the silver accents of the boy's home decor.
Unlit candelabras, their waxen bodies gleaming in the sunlight, sat upon every shelf and surface, their warm sunlight bouncing off them and hitting the piles of literature with titles about ‘the human mind’, and ‘the state of being’, scattered upon the floor and silver flower vases filled to the brim with white lilies that filled the room with their scent, even in their state of beginning to wilt.
The sound of swallows and starlings chirping outside added to the springtime atmosphere. “Sit now; I’ll fetch you some tea,” Victor said, filled with a mix of excitement and dread, body tense as if the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next turn of events.
Matthew slowly made his way over to Victor's dark plum divan. He sat upright, always proper in his mannerisms and, therefore, never comfortable, unlike Victor, who was always comfortable and hence- never truly proper. Ames couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between them, the way Victor seemed to fit so naturally into his surroundings while he always felt like an outsider, a visitor in his own life. This stark contrast, this constant struggle to find common ground, often made him question their friendship, wondering if they were genuinely compatible or if their differences would eventually drive them apart.
Victor, his voice trembling with excitement, returned with the tea. He rambled about their lack of communication, which Dr. Ames couldn't help but find intriguing. His brow furrowed slightly, a sign of his growing concern.
“Yes yes-” he said as he waved Victor off, “that's all well and good, Victor, but I feel I must mention… I have been sending letter after letter to you, my friend. In fact, I have come here repeatedly and was beginning to think you needed a new doorbell!” Ames’s voice, usually steady and robust, quivered with concern. The tension in the air was palpable as if the room itself was holding its breath and waiting for Victor's response.
“Oh… oh, I see,” Victor whispered, holding his thumb to his tip in thought as he crossed his arms, resting his elbow on the other arm, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I am—quite sorry, Matthew. I truly had no clue. See, there's something I want to tell you.” A small smile beamed over his face, clouding over the previous worry. “Well then, my boy, do tell, I would love to know what has kept you from me for so long!” Matthew queried, hands carefully wrapping around his tea as he crossed one leg over the other, raising an eyebrow at the younger one in interest, relief washing over him at Victor's grin, knowing that whatever it was, it mustn't be all that bad.
Victor made his way over to the other, leaning back as he sat on the divan next to him, lighting a cigarette. “I met someone.” He spoke rather bluntly, looking over at Ames, “someone very interesting; I’m afraid over the last few days I have been so incredibly enamoured I have completely forgotten about the outside world altogether.” Matthew's eyes widened in surprise, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected news. The revelation left him with a mix of emotions, from curiosity to concern, as he struggled to maintain his composure and process what Victor had just said.
Matthew watched his face intently, watching Victor's eyelids settle slightly as he relaxed. His pupils widened as he spoke of this mystery person, and now Matthews's eyes darted down to see his leg bouncing rapidly despite his calmer state. “That's all very well, Victor, and please do forgive my curiosity, but I cannot stand your vagueness; it is a horrible habit to have and one you indulge in far too much.” He criticised, crossing his arms as he placed down his cup.
“I know far too well that if I do not ask explicitly, you won't tell me.”
“You can be awfully horrid to me sometimes, you know that. Let a man indulge in some mystery… but alright, what are you going to ask?” Victor huffed in response
“I want to know how you met this person. Do tell me everything, won't you?”
“Yes, yes, I will” Victor took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling his lids press together as he went back in his memory, truly unable to forget that moment in the first place
“He was a clever fellow by the name of Julius Foale… I was out for an evening stroll, and the sun swirled into that lovely orange sky as it went away. I’m afraid I was so enamoured with my research notes that I wasn't looking where I was going in the slightest.
That's when I ran into a man who had the same idea for a promenade as I did, our paths colliding as I fell to the ground. He was undoubtedly a bit of a dandy if I’d ever seen one. A man of the finer things myself, the first thing my eyes went to was his clothing.
A beautiful blue velvet coat wrapped around him and framed his figure nicely, bending in at his waist ever so slightly and hugging his shoulders. All this is paired with a colourful, soft floral waistcoat peeking out from the blue and tied together with a velvet cravat. Of course, I’m not so materialistic that I’d only see another man's clothing. You know me that well, Matthew- anyhow, I looked up from my place on the concrete and was met with a pair of shining, golden brown eyes that seemed to have been touched by Midas himself.”
Matthew leaned over to the other as he spoke, borrowing the cigarette from Victor's hand, which was so bony in comparison to Matthew's. “I do hope he’s humble since you seem to speak all his glory for him.”
“There is really no need to tease me- anyhow. When I looked at him, I swear for a moment I was looking at the sunset again, along with his golden hair falling down his face. I felt as if I was making a terrible mistake by being in the presence of such an angelic man, and that's when he spoke to me, asking if I was alright after the tumble. And his voice! Oh, his voice… He sounded of honey and the harmony of angels, the calming tone of a mother singing her infant to sleep.
I hastily mumbled an apology, my tone quivering from pure nerves. I took his hand as he reached out to help me up, pressing my palm to his. His skin was soft and delicate, almost like a woman's hand. He felt like he was unhurt by the cruel world. His hands were so gentle and smooth, with prominent knuckles that I felt with my thumb as I was pulled up to face him directly, his scent wafting over me from the pull.
Floral and spring-like at first, that of a young boy frolicking through freshly bloomed flowers… but- there was something else there which I couldn't quite pinpoint, perhaps notes of opium? Yet- not entirely, it was off, some sort of scent I wasn't familiar with myself, yet everything else was so beautiful I just simply looked past it; I’m sure I’ll regret that one day, it's a horrible decision for any academic to be so enamoured like this.”
“I’m afraid you are correct in that statement, Victor. I don't agree with a lot of what you say, but I am sure of that. You have an incredible mind, at times to your detriment, for sure, but I agree that those sorts of friendships are purely distractions to any great mind. Neither one of us can afford such a thing… Although that is not to say I’m against it, it is simply another complexity of the human condition. All great people crave distractions from their minds.”
“Matthew, I truly despise when you speak like that. It distresses me; I think far too much on my own. I would like to not indulge in your brain as well, despite how lovely it can be.”
“Yes, yes, I thank you for the flattery and whatnot, but I don't suppose there is any way I can meet this fellow? I must know anyone you speak so highly of,” Matthew inquired, extremely curious as he allowed the other to finish their shared cigarette before taking a sip of his tea, the mix of bitter tea with sweet honey stirred into it, flooding over the previous taste of tobacco and smoke. Taking a deep breath of fresh air to combat the bitter smoke in his lungs, the senses calming his mind and body.
“You have absolutely brilliant timing, my friend. I was invited to dine with him tonight; I’m sure he wouldn’t mind in the slightest. Oh, you must come with me. He’s absolutely brilliant. I am positive you will adore him just as I do.”
Matthew's mouth contorted to a slight frown that sat upon his face despite getting precisely what he had asked for, unsure about the pit that sat in his stomach, twisting and swirling in sharp pain as his brows furrowed against his forehead, falling deep into thought as he analysed his own thoughts feelings and senses, observing his experience of the human condition.
A slight tingle came over his fingers and a quiver in his chapped lips as they slowly parted to speak out a response, at first it being just an empty breath, unable to push anything past his throat, the flesh of it closing up against his words, breathing in that spring air again before managing to speak. “Yes Victor… I think that would be quite lovely, and he sounds like a very respectable man.”
A slight hiss hung through the now painfully stiff air as the shared cigarette was put out against Victor's silver, intricate ashtray. The boy stood now with a wild smile across his pale face, grinning ear to ear at Matthew's agreement to join him as he pulled the older man into a tight hug, completely ecstatic.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you! You really have no idea how much this means to me. In all honestly, I was afraid to go alone. I’m glad I’ll have a friend there with me. I so despise going to events when I don't know anyone there that well; it is terribly awkward, and I have so missed you, even if I’ve been a tad too distracted to realise.”
“It’s really quite alright, my dear. I would love to meet this Julius Foale of yours, and you do need more friends, after all - be a doll and write down the information for me, and I shall go home to get into my evening wear, alright?” Ames muttered, giving Victor a slight grin in response, gently pushing the small man off of him as he himself stood.
The old wooden flooring creaked slightly underneath his leather shoes as he put weight onto them, echoing throughout the quiet house beside the occasional chatter between the two men and the faint footsteps of Victor's butler. The two men stared at each other now, looking into one another's eyes in silence for a moment and embracing the presence of the other that both of them missed and longed for horribly, Matthew's fingers twitching slightly while fighting against the urge to reach out for Barret.
“I’ll be on my way then,” Ames insisted, turning away from him, nerves running through his body as he did. I’ll see you soon then, my dear boy.” Matthew truly did feel glad for his friend, knowing Victor tended to seclude himself from society; he needed more socialisation, and it would be good for his state to get out - yet he still had this horrid swirling in his stomach telling him something was off as he waved goodbye to Victor Barret, floors creaking as he walked out that old grand house.
Matthew gazed towards his reflection, finding himself at his own estate, now adjusting his evening wear in the silver gilded mirror of his bed chambers and his fingers grazing over the stalk of alyssum positioned within his lapel, delicate, decadent and soothing little white petals forcing him to be careful, wary with his touch as he felt the frail flower. Fearing that if he gave into his desires, his hands would spoil it before he took in the fragrance of warm honey that the alyssum gave off and subdued his mind from the apprehensions he had built up about this mysterious new friend of Victor.
A bitter taste formed within his mouth caused by the dryness in his throat, forcing his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth as he carefully manoeuvred his dense hair, preparing himself for what was to come. The doctor's face was illuminated by the candles that had sat before his mirror, dark blue wax that had been forced into the candelabras, small pieces of scraped wax poking out around it, going from blue to white from the minor scrapes unable to hold to the rich colourisation that the candles maintained, mimicking the life of royalty in his upper-class estate.
Ames leaned forward ever so slightly to triple-check the ivory bowtie that sat around his neck, the flickering orange lights of the candles contrasting with the azure of his candles warming his face, heat spreading throughout the rest of his body in the slight cold sting that the spring nights caused to slip into the homes of London, crawling its way through the gaps of windows, floorboards and cracks in the walls, chilling one's bones. Matthew savoured this warmth, grateful he could remain in comfort while others did not before taking a breath of sharp air and extinguishing the flames.
Matthew's brain felt a slight sense of relief as he walked down the halls of his estate, the man's ears calming when he didn't hear the creaking sounds that he had gotten so used to hearing when visiting Victor. Ames seized a lightweight scarf as he departed the building, soft fabric against his skin, dark yellow with pink and magenta carnations enveloping and spiralling around the pattern. The diaphanous fabric rustled around and hemmed him pleasingly, adding a touch of colour to one's typically very drab and plain evening wear, a gift from his dear Victor a fair couple of years ago.
The outside air stung his face as he stepped out onto the streets of London, cold and sharp as daggers that attacked any slight peak of bare skin that left itself open to the senses and open for attack. Gravel moved under his dress shoes, creating a crunch that echoed through the streets as it maneuvered around him to make way for the steps and his mahogany cane, pebbles clicking and crashing together with each action. The sound bounced around his ears and rang through his brain as his eyes adjusted to the dark sky of the evening, focusing on the street lamps that lit the area.
The gentle glow they emitted reminded him of the flickering candles that adorned his bedroom. It seemed to mock the radiant rays of the sun as if humanity's desire to reach divine status was both exquisite and terrifying in its essence. Matthew halted in his steps, retrieving a cigarette from his case and delicately positioning it between his lips. As he struck a match to ignite the cigarette, he felt a sense of godlike power akin to Prometheus bestowing fire upon mankind with his own hands.
After his time walking, he stared down towards the information of the evening on the paper that Victor had written for him, eyes now looking up to find himself at this strange new friend's estate. The building was well-kept, with three stories of clean windows and flowers surrounding the light blue walls, buttercups sprouting upwards from the grounds, and double daffodils towering over them. Matthew's eyes then focus on the peaks of pink coming through the green grass.
Ames hesitated as he approached the door, the lush azaleas surrounding the grounds creating an atmosphere of caution. The faint buzz of conversation seeped through the gaps in the doorway, unusually loud for a typical dinner — a red light filtered through the dark blinds of the crystal-clear windows, casting an eerie glow. Matthew gazed at the peculiar lighting, feeling a wave of confusion wash over him before mustering the courage to knock on the door. The door painted an enigmatic deep purple, seemed to loom over him as he took a shaky breath and rapped his knuckles against it three times before stepping back.
