Boots in a Flowerbed

15. Closed Door

Kim climbs the stairs, lips pressed into a thin line. This is the last time. He's fumed and hesitated and seethed long enough. The sooner he's in, the sooner he'll be out again. It doesn't matter if Chaim is at home or not. He doesn't need to set a foot in, just hand over the books he's borrowed and be done with it.

Outside the door, Kim inhales deep and knocks. The door opens in a few moments, as usual, but Dalen is not his usual self. He's immaculate and well-groomed as always, but his face is pale and haggard, and relief practically rolls over him when he sees who's at the door.

"Master Kim, thank the gods! Do come in! So good that you're here, we realized we didn't have any idea where to reach you -"

"I - I just came to bring these back." Kim's heart has leaped into his throat but he doesn't budge from the doorstep, even if he has to bite his lip not to say anything. Dalen stares for a moment and seems to shrink a little.

"Oh... I see." The valet takes the books, tries to smile and fails. Kim looks at Dalen suspiciously, tells his wildly hammering heart that he has nothing to do with anyone or anything here, and then his tongue acts on its own.

"Dalen, what's happened?"

The servant gestures for Kim to come in, closes the door and takes a deep breath. "It's Mylord."

"I guessed as much, but what about him?" It comes out far sharper than Kim would've wanted.

"He's locked himself in the lilac room." Dalen sighs. "Since Tuesday evening. He won't open the door, and he's been drinking all the while. Could you - could you please talk to him?"

"But - that's three days!" Kim's jaw drops but still he steels himself. "And why should I? What good would that do? Surely that - that - Toni - would do much better than me."

"Master Kim, please listen!" Dalen looks at him earnestly, pleadingly. "They used to be close, him and Mylord, but that's a thing of the past. And this is to do mainly with you. I don't know exactly what's happened, nor does Tim, but we know this much: on Tuesday, Mister Toneior and the two ladies -"

Kim snorts.

"- they sailed in, practically walked over Tim, and wanted Mylord to join them to some party. He offered them a drink and refused, but they were very insistent. At some point you came, so perhaps you know what passed there - we just know that in the end Mylord and Mister Toneior nearly got to grips with each other, and after that the visitors finally left. Mylord was very upset after they'd gone, and he got even more upset when Tim asked him if you'd be staying for dinner. We hadn't known that you'd left, and Mylord really grilled poor Tim about when you'd arrived and all that. A little later we went to inquire if he'd want some dinner, and that's when we found the doors locked and bolted."

"But what's he doing?" Kim asks.

"I told you - drinking." Dalen's jaw tightens. "We're very worried, Master Kim. He's not eaten anything all the while. And I know him. Some people pass out quickly when they get alcohol, but unfortunately Mylord DelChaim is not one of those people. When he starts to drink, he can go on and on."

Kim doesn't ask how Dalen knows that. "Why don't you tell him to open the door?"

"Do you think we haven't tried? He refuses to, and the doors are very sturdy. Please, Master Kim. Please. He'll listen to you."

Kim wants to say no, just turn around and walk away from this all for good, but his anger is already boiling over. It's been bubbling inside him for three days and now that velvety voice is once more ringing in his ears so that he grinds his teeth to silence it. He feels humiliated, betrayed, dirtied and soiled and slandered, and he hates the feeling. He hates the dark, smirking stranger. He hates Chaim, who is hiding in his luxurious den and pitying himself, making Dalen and Tim and Kim worry for him. If he'd never met Chaim, he wouldn't be feeling this crushing pity and concern now. He doesn't want to feel this way for anybody, especially not Chaim, he's furious because he can't help feeling it, and he wants to take it out at last. Preferably on the man who's caused this all.

Kim marches through the rooms, fists clenching, and reaches the ominously closed door. He tries the handle - locked. He knocks.

"Chaim," he calls. "Open the door."

No reply. Kim strains his ears, thinks he hears a clink, a shuffle. He knocks harder. "Chaim - I know you're there. Open this door, now."

This time it's a distinct sound. The voice is so thick and slurred that it's almost unrecognizable, and that makes the words even creepier. "No. You're not Kim. He's left me. I'm just imagining you."

"Chaim!" Kim yells, both fists banging the door. "You goddamn brainless idiot! Open this bloody door this instant, and I swear you'll feel well enough whether I'm real or not - and I don't care how bloody drunk you are, you..."

He kicks the door, ready to cry of anger and frustration, then sinks his teeth into his lip as he tries to hold his breath and listen. "Chaim?"

Metal scrapes against metal. Kim hears fumbling and then a slight screech. He puts his hand on the handle and presses it gently down. It opens, and he takes a deep breath. He's sure that he doesn't really want to see what's inside.