31 May 2020
London
Mr. Edwin Marshman was a man who got work done.
At the tender age of 18, he sealed his first Black-market deal worth millions of dollars. At 30, he became a world-renowned lawyer, yes world-renowned, but not in the reach of many, and at 40, he became a father. The people with discerning eyes used "Sly" as a synonym for his name by the time he crossed 45.
Nobody knew what he had been doing for the next five years. But at 50, he received an email.
'It has been seven years since then,' Mr. Edwin thought, nudging his round glasses. He also had a thick white anchor beard, but he didn't have a habit of stroking it in moments of deep contemplation. His hair had already gone white. And yet, the striking head of hair could deceive anybody into thinking that the color was artificial. The sharpness in his eyes matched perfectly with his facial features.
At 57, Mr. Edwin was in the prime of his career.
"Sir, the auction has ended."
"Good. You handled it well," Mr. Edwin said, taking a sip of the black tea.
The manager, Mr. Oliver, took a deep breath of pride. It was no less a simple task to get a compliment from Mr. Edwin 'The Butler', not anymore for the last few years.
"Thank you, Sir. But there is a slight problem."
Mr. Oliver flinched as he saw those white, sword-like eyebrows going up. And he knew he should not wait to blame someone else as soon as possible.
"Sir, the successful bidder is demanding to meet the painter. He said that he would pay double the worth if the painter can make a portrait for him."
"No."
Yes, there was no need to say more words. And nothing else was required.
"Of course Sir. Of course. Please let me treat you to dinner this evening." Mr. Oliver had already booked the best table and a custom menu at a Michelin star restaurant.
"Next time. I must go now."
Cold sweat kissed Mr. Oliver's back as he saw the smile on Mr. Edwin's face. It's like in front of The Butler's eyes there could be no hidden motives whatsoever.
"Haha, I'm already looking forward to your next arrival."
Mr. Oliver rubbed his hands in defeat after seeing his 'career's ladder' exiting the hotel.
He had done 5 auctions on Mr. Edwin's behalf, each more exquisite than the last. They auctioned the first piece for 90 million US dollars and it took the whole art world by surprise. The bidders, like hungry wolves, had pounced upon the latest work. And why wouldn't they? The painting was being evaluated to be the best of its time. 'On the Color of Dreams' got auctioned at a record-breaking price of 243 million US dollars.
The winner, though anonymous, contacted him to meet the painter 'Snowfall'. Nobody knew who this 'Snowfall' was, a man or a woman, young or old. They only knew that 5 out of 7 of his works had secured sky-high prices in London in 7 years. The mystery of 'Snowfall' pulled at the heartstrings of art enthusiasts with his every new work. But Mr. Oliver's heartstrings were already loose enough to discard any pulling. The only man who could give a momentary tension to them was Mr. Edwin.
*
In reminiscence, Mr. Edwin took out the old email on his way to the London International Airport. He had been feeling nostalgic about its content and the events that had pursued it. There was not much meaning in the email address, as it kept changing from time to time. But the name of the sender, ever so humbly mentioned at the end of content, was like a Holy Grail for him.
'A Thousand Faces,' Mr. Edwin repeated the name 3 times. And there was only a single line worth of content in the email. A sentence that often still echoed across spacetime to remind him of one of the greatest gifts of his life.
"If life's mundane activities have bored you, then reply to me and I will keep you occupied for the rest of your life."
At a single glance, any person of considerable intelligence would mark it as spam and delete it. And this obvious scam also couldn't fool the shrewdest man alive, a title given by well-known critics. But Mr. Edwin couldn't delete it. Curiosity killed the cat, and curiosity also killed his intelligence. And this curiosity led him to reply to the mail also with a single line.
'Yes, I am bored,' he chuckled, remembering his reply. And true to the words, "A Thousand Faces" had kept him occupied ever since. Mr. Edwin did not know its identity, but he knew it was an organization. An organization of the world's best geniuses, the prodigies of their time.
Paintings, scientific papers, commentaries, medical research, psychology, cryptology, philosophy, and literature were among the many topics he had been handling for his exclusive client. He had secured the outgoing and incoming content with utmost privacy.
Finding problems and providing all the needed materials and data to the client also came under his purview.
Mr. Edwin: Please confirm the amount. There are requests for a thesis on OCPD from a secured target. The money is considerable. Let me know by today.
He sent a brief e-mail to his client and leaned back in his seat. Awaiting what interesting things he would have to do in the future.
*
31 May 2020
Leavenworth, USA
Honks of a candy apple red pickup truck were not Mozart's symphony.
"Would you just stop it?" Aldrich yelled from the top window.
As usual, on Sunday morning, his mother had already gone to the fishery department. Mr. Ben had been investing this time in his wood carvings in the basement. In the guise of volunteer work, the Guo family's members had been satisfying their curiosity for quite some time.
Yes, there was a basement. The Guos used it for inventory and some sort of tinkering, as told to the people of the town. Aldrich was checking his mails when Boomie arrived ahead of time, much to the headache of all the sentient beings nearby. Besides Aldrich, this was another thing the neighbors had wanted to get rid of.
"Have you brought the bear spray? I've already reminded you twice about it since yesterday," Aldrich said.
Boomie took the heavy backpack from him and put it in the truck's bed.
"Be gentle with it, my telescope is in the bag too."
"Ok, and yeah, I've brought spray and other things. Now get in the cabin man."
Boomie, other than a red bush for his hair, was tall and lean with a broad chest and heavy shoulders. Yet, in a town where almost all locals knew each other, his appearance had also deceived nobody. As with most climbers, the strength to weight ratio of his body was ridiculous. His tendons were strong, to where every step seemed like a tiny jump.
"Would you like to drive?"
Aldrich gave him a look and said, "You realize I do not have a driving license."
"Haha. No, I remember but I wanted to hear it again." Boomie was trying hard to curb his laughter.
"Let's go. We need to reach the site by 9:00 pm."
Boomie was a fearless guy, but even he didn't like the idea of a hike after sunset. So he jumped into the cabin and the wheels were rolling soon towards the trailhead. The good thing was that it was right outside of the town.
"So, Mindy said hi. She had a sudden errand to take care of, at the lodge." Boomie explained the absence of the third hiker, even when he hadn't told him about her probable arrival.
Aldrich was looking out the window, thinking why do people sometimes feel good and sometimes bad upon hearing a lie?
"This 'errand' that you mentioned. Did it come before you told her, that I am coming along, or after?"
Nobody in their right mind would approach Aldrich of their own volition. He knew it, Boomie knew it, Mindy knew it, and so did the rest of the town.
Every person had their own thoughts about Aldrich and his oddity. Aldrich had never explained himself and discouraged Boomie to do so too. But in the end, Boomie was not Aldrich.
There were some secrets that Boomie wished he hadn't known and some secrets that he thought he should have known. Some secrets which he had wanted to remain buried deep enough to never see the light of the day.
And yet all secrets had paled compared to the one related to the man sitting by his side.