Old-Fashioned, or Another Story With Ghosts

Chapter 7. The fireplace is started and the team is formed

"It is not necessary. The circumstances of our acquaintance are quite unusual, don't you agree?"

"Aye... I worry for you. When you are...the one with that another James." The word 'possessed' brought chills through Greg's back, and he decided not to spell it. Superstitions. 

They left the kitchen together in a few minutes. James was holding the trey with two cups of mint tea, and Greg was hugging the bouquet in the bucket. The nice couples, they were. 

"Is Wilkins your, um, friend?" Their steps were producing echo, and the quietness of the darkened halls was unreal. Sensible. 

Greg felt like they'd known each other for ages.

"Wilkins is my butler. Have known him for ages, a great man he is. He might seem frightening at first, but don't let him get to you. The kindest man I've known. Are you cold? We should stop at the drawing room then, I'll start a fire."

"I, I mean, yes...no. Kind of. Not... quite? Butler. Right."

They both got silent for a while. The rose petals were falling softly on the old parquet.

James put the tea on the table and checked the fireplace. It was still working surprisingly, and there was wood.

Greg's mobile buzzed in his jeans - and almost produced an echo. James just though the house was too soundless. The fog behind the windows was milk like, not even a tree seen.

"Are you afraid of him?" James raised back on his feet  looking at the starting fire.

"Who? The other gent?" Greg shrugged. "Kind of, aye. Come on. It's a ghost."

"He is sad. He lost someone."

"Charlotte."

James looked out at his young companion. Greg shrugged again taking the gaze away. "You called me Charlotte. When kissed...downstairs, in the kitchen, I mean. It might be just an occasional name, but...ah-h, shite, you wouldn't say occasional name if you're the ghost, right?! It should mean something. Maybe, it's her, the lass. There is always a lass in those ghost movies." 

"You assumption sounds reasonable. I do not recall anything from the periods I am being the harbour for my ancestor."

"It is reasonable!" Great was proud as hell to hear James agreeing with him. Grabbed a cup and sat near the fire with his legs crossed. 

Then he stood up again awkwardly. Cause James didn't join him on the floor. "Well, it's simple now. We should just track down that another Lord James' story and find what happened to Charlotte. Tell him and it will set him free, everybody's safe and sound!" He even nodded to himself. Then paused. "I am really saying all of it, aye? About communicating with the ghost and setting the main character - you - free. F...damn. But you shouldn't stay here alone, by the way. You might step from the roof if another one decides to walk there. He doesn't mind already, but you do. And me." Another pause. "Sorry."

"You saw him before I was even here." James placed a cup on the saucer, looking into the fire deep in thoughts.

"Because he was here before you, right?"

"No, you were the only one who saw him here. And he seem to enjoy your company. Do you happen to have a Charlotte in your ancestry? Oh..."

"What?"

"Charlotte."

"What? You know the lass?"

"Don't have the slightest idea. But there is a picture in my bedroom. It just says "Charlotte" on it. Saw it yesterday before I...oh."

"What?"

"Before I saw him in the dining room. You observed he was killed, as I understand? What I mean is that we see the story. It seems to go backwards. The only way he can communicate. What a smart old chap." James smiled at puzzled Greg. "Do you wish to see the end of the story? Or it shall be more of the beginning."

"Do I wish... you're joking, right?!" Greg's cup clang upon the saucer when he tried to repeat James' move. "Sure I want to! But I'm about to leave in the morning, and I bet it's not going to happen during this night. That...old chap isn't fast, you know." His tea was barely warm. Greg emptied the cup with one sip and gasped missing his favourite Starbucks venti mug. He had brought the one from Berlin. At least, there was no flag on it.

He wound rather die than allow James to see that mug. Theoretically.

The fire was cracking and hissing with the drops of water evaporating from the logs. The fog was outside, and everything was well inside the room. A fairy night. Greg gasped holding the palms closer to the fire, observing the finger and the cut. "Will your... butler take care of you? When, um, you're not yourself?"

"Oh, excuse me. I saw you in the kitchen and that made me believe that might be you would like to stay for some time. Of course, I'll ask to drive you where you wish to in the morning. I guess you should not worry, this seems to happen only in your presence."

"I'm definitely not Charlotte."

"You most definitely are not."

"James...I mean, sir."

"Yes?"

"I'd... actually stay for a couple of days. If that is ok. All right."

James gave him a long look, then smiled a bit. He was not even sure what exactly made him so pleased, but the fire definitely needed care.

"Lovely." He just answered.

"Awesome!"

That was exactly the moment all electricity in the house went out, drowning it into the deep darkness. Only the fire lit the small circle in the room, shading the reflection on the roses. Gregory squeaked.

"Blasted old engineering..." mumbled James and took a candle holder from the table to start it from the fire.

The surprising thing was it was not exactly Gregory's face he saw when he looked up again. It was himself. They were looking into each other until one of them blinked. James caught the quiet 'fuck' from Gregory who found himself behind James' back the very next moment.

"Tell me I'm not Charlotte now." His whisper was loud.

"You still most definitely are not. I might sound a bit strait-forward but would you mind accompanying me to the bedroom?"

"Oi?!"

"To see the portrait, of course."

***