Prologue

He lived alone in a large old house that topped the hill. No one remembered when he had last been to the small hamlet they called home. It was said you could hear him crying when the evenings were still. No one knew why and worse, no one cared anymore.

The house was overgrown and unkempt with paint faded over the passage of seasons. Time marched on, never halting for those who wanted it to. You could not turn back the hands of it no matter how hard you tried. And how he had tried over and over again, but it was not to be. He lived what looked to all who saw, a life he had in the past. Those happier times of his youth were what kept him going.

The house held him prisoner to those times, the faded pictures and memories of laughter keeping him from the world outside. His solicitors took care of the need to venture into that outside world. Their orders had been laid out-years before: Invest his funds, pay his bills, keep him fed and provide an accounting every year. They were paid well and the job of providing the accounting was given to the newest associate of the firm to deliver.

That job now fell to me, since I joined late last year. Old man Withers, as we called him in the firm, was to expect me on the first of November promptly at 9:00. I would deliver to him the accounting, answering any questions he might have. The reports I had seen from previous years indicated there would be little discussion and I would likely be dismissed within half an hour.

So on a dreary overcast morning my breath steaming as the temperature was just above freezing, I rang the bell and waited on the porch. At exactly 9:00 the door opened, and I entered. There in front of me stood an old man, slightly slumped over, with a full head of gray hair. His clothes were clean but dated.

He sized me up, took the card I had extended to him, opened the door fully and invited me inside as he looked it over. The door closed with a thud, and I followed him as he shuffled along taking me to the sitting room.

“Well John, you must be the newest associate at the firm.” He handed me a cup of coffee after I had sat down on the couch.

“Yes, sir. I have been with them for almost a year now.”

“So they assigned you to me then. Tom was not so bad the past years, but he gives your profession its reputation, I’m afraid.”

“What is that, Sir?”

“Shifty, slimly, willing to eat their own to get ahead.”

“I see you pull no punches.”

“At my age, why should I?”

He sat down across from me. I expected him to open the report to review it. Instead he stared as I grew uncomfortable and then asked about my past. He picked apart my life slowly: family, friends, experiences, goals, dreams, ideas about honor and fidelity. The time had just flown by as we discussed it all. He stopped to make us lunch and then continued with what now had become an interrogation delivered by an expert interrogator.

Finally, it came to where he had no doubt intended it to go. In a simple flat tone statement, he said. “I am dying. I won’t be here to see the spring. No, there is nothing that a doctor can do. It’s the battle of time and time always wins in the end. I have lived a full life and will not regret a moment of it.”

“The records indicate you are a recluse who has not stepped out of this house for the past forty years.” I said.

“Everything is not always as it appears. But I have taken your whole day, it seems. I invite you to come back this Saturday at 9:00 if you wish to know more.” With that he said his goodbyes and left me sitting. I showed myself to the door.

Edited by Morgan