All my life long, I have always felt like I was running.
Always running.
People called me driven, but I knew that I was actually being chased.
"Michael," said his new therapist as he was resettling into his office chair after having closed the windows, "What does this have to do with the death of your daughter?"
Silence.
The atmosphere felt very tense and thick with emotion while Michael was giving this therapist a death stare.
"I thought I am supposed to be paying for you to listen to me."
"That's the problem with rich people," said the therapist in a matter of fact manner, "They always think it's all about them. What you need to first learn is that you are nothing special."
"Huh" said Michael, "I don't think that I can talk to an idiot like you any longer."
Michael leaned back into his seat and made a call.
"Why are you still here?" asked the therapist.
"That's none of your business."
Michael called his chauffeur and asked him to be ready, he then went straight back home that evening after his therapy session.
Michael felt terrible within himself, instead of finding a solution to his problems, he felt like a bigger weight had been added on to them.
In spite of how insignificant this therapist was in the grand scheme of things, he had unknowingly tapped into one of Michael's biggest fears. That all his hard work and his striving was useless in the face of the old demons he was trying to get away from.
"Am I really cursed?" he wondered as he stared into the darkness in his room which stared right back at him. Nothing ever seemed to go right for him.
All that he had attained, he felt like he had had to claw his way up the mountains of perils to reach the peak of success. Yet, the peak didn't feel like a peak.
Especially not with the death of his little, precious daughter.
"Have I been singled out to live an excruciating life that doesn't make any sense to me?" Michael asked himself.
"Does God really love me?"
"Because if so, why do I feel like I'm hated"
Michael couldn't find any answers within himself that night.
Early the next morning long before dawn, he summoned his housekeeper Mr. James.
***
Mr James was surprised at being summoned to his master's chambers so early in the morning before even the break of day.
He looked at the little clock in his room just as the minute hand was running past 4:48am.
At his ripe old age of 61, he thought that he was beginning to be too old for his master's strange antics and fits of melancholy and temper.
Michael had always been of a pensive, brooding nature even since his boyhood.
But lately such behaviour had taken a turn for the worse. He had become unpredictable.
Mr James unconsciously rapidly passed a gloved hand over his forehead as if to smooth the worry from his face. He must put the finishing touches to his articles of dress before he presents himself to the master of the house.
As Mr. James stepped out into the long corridor, the house greeted him with its familiar silence.
Even at this early hour, the mansion seemed to hold its breath.
The floors gleamed, the walls were adorned with imposing art and careful ornamentation, yet, there was something undeniably cold about the place.
Beauty, as experience had shown him, was never an automatic guarantee for warmth.
He walked at his usual measured pace, passing tall windows that looked out onto large, beautiful, well cared for gardens.
Once, many years ago, he had thought the house rather grand than gloomy. That was before the recent tragic event that had passed through this home.
His thoughts, uninvited, drifted to Michael's daughter.
She had been only four when the fever took her. A small child, as light as a cookie when he carried her. She looked very like her father, with her very black hair and intelligent face.
Mr. James believed she was in heaven and that she would be comforted from the worries she had had in life mostly due to her mother. He did not ask why she had been taken, or what lesson it was meant to teach. Some things, he had learned, were not improved by being examined too closely.
Still, as he moved deeper into the mansion, he could not help noticing how the cold seemed heavier here, how the air felt untouched by human joy.
After the unexpected death of Michael's child, the house had grown darker, as though grief had seeped into the walls themselves. Mr. James did not blame the building. Houses reflected the hearts of those who lived within them.
He adjusted his gloves and briskly walked on towards Michael's chambers.
Mr. James entered, shutting the door behind him.
"James."
Michael was seated on the edge of the bed, a navy blue bathrobe loosely tied at the waist. His hair was still wet, darkened by water. Left untamed, the natural curves and waves of it were more apparent than when it was carefully styled.
"The therapy session last evening was a complete waste of time," Michael said. His tone was flat and curt. "I don't object to honesty, but there's a difference between insight and pettiness. The man seemed more invested in being biting in his remarks than in being of assistance to me."
Mr. James inclined his head slightly. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."
"I expected some measure of relief after work. Instead, I returned home more discomfited than when I left yesterday morning. This won't do, I'm sick of trying to reason myself out of grief. I am going on a holiday."
"That's an excellent idea, sir. Might I suggest the family cruise the Mondego family is putting on in 3 days' time?"
"I was thinking about going to my ranch in the countryside today itself."
Mr. James hesitated—not long, but long enough to register. Then he cleared his throat softly.
"There is one matter, that may require your attention before any travel plans are finalized."
"What is it?"
"Your mother, sir," Mr. James said carefully. "She has planned a formal dinner this evening at her residence. In honour of your twenty-ninth birthday."
Michael's expression shifted, not dramatically, but decisively.
"She did not ask me," he said.
"No, sir." Mr. James hesitated, then added, "She expressly requested your presence." Michael laughed bitterly and with a strange fire in his eyes, said coldly:
"Well. Make preparations and let us see what other drama mother dearest has in store for me."