In-Between the Shadows

1. Encounter

I thought becoming a practitioner and moving away from my life in the country would fill the hole inside me that I dreamed of being filled, but like all dreams, it died - faster than I could have ever imagined.

And so did the dream that was Daniel Taylor.

I suppose I should begin my tale by telling you how we met: I lived in an inn that was run by an old widow that took over her late husband's business. It was all I could afford and all that I ever needed, me, a bachelor that was an apprentice to the neighborhood doctor.

It was quaint, small - it was perfect. My room was upstairs at the far end of the hall, just big enough to fit a bed, a dresser, a wardrobe, a desk, and a few sitting chairs sprawled out across the room. I lived quietly, as a respectable and responsible doctor-to-be should. No one bothered me, and I didn't bother anybody.

When I heard that we had someone new moving in, I disregarded it. Actually, I forgot, only hearing it on my way out the door for work.

I did not know anything about this newcomer. I didn't know if they were a man or a woman, how long they were staying, or why they came here; only that they stayed at the top of the stairs and were coming today of all days. On a Monday

I was exhausted, coming home from work - so much so, that that when I climbed the stairs to my room, I tripped over something - a trunk, standing before a closed door.

As I tried to get up, cursing to myself for such clumsiness, the closed-door suddenly opened. There, stood tall and proud, was a face I had not laid eyes on. Immediately, I was embarrassed and looked down to avoid eye contact. I picked myself up, muttered an apology, and hurried back to my room.

I heard more about this stranger at dinner. He was from England, was military, and was to stay for a few months closer to a year. The few women at the table blushed, mentioning how handsome he was, while their husbands discussed his intentions (hopefully not for their wives.)

I listened to the conversation, partly reimagining the man's face, and partly praying that I didn't make a bad impression on him, this man that was called Daniel Taylor.

He didn't come down for dinner, nor for any other time that evening. He stayed in his room, door shut, and quiet. I glanced at his door when I passed it on my way to my room. He was a curiosity indeed.

***

I didn't see him for four days after that. He wasn't at any mealtimes, said to prefer going out instead. (How he could waste money like that while the meals were free, I didn't know.) I didn't see him when I was leaving for work, and I didn't see him waiting for the bathroom. It was like he was never there.

It was only when one evening when I came home from work did I see him closing his door behind him, dressed in a coat and hat.

There, at the bottom of the stairs did I fully see him. He was a well-built man with strong distinct features, the contrast between his dark hair and pale eyes being one of them. He was indeed handsome, but sad in a way I cannot explain to you.

We met eyes immediately, which made me look away. I carried myself up the stairs while his eyes followed me as though following an insect. I felt tense, but I tried my best not to let it show.

As I passed him, I ushered a good evening to him and continued my way down the hall, but a hand clasped my shoulder, and I jolted around.

He seemed surprised by my alertness, but nonetheless, let it go. He returned to a calm state.

"Do you happen to know of a well-rounded tavern?" His voice was thick of accent, though you could tell that he tried to sound as Americanized as possible.