tales of Suchita

Ramshackle does not ask for Kilney’s coat or umbrella. He thinks the man would prefer to keep them handy. He notices the way Kilney’s eyes turn round with disbelief at the smooth wooden panelling, the way the air and light pulse with life through the rooms and the general sense of well-being that emanates from the interiors.

Ramshackle doesn’t feel any of this but he knows this because his past clients have told him as much. That as soon as they step through the threshold, it’s like they have left their imperfect world behind and stepped into a perfect one.

He leads Kilney into an office and the man can’t help but snort at the arrogance of having a space like that. People like him are struggling to hold onto properties that have a room and a kitchen. And then there is Ramshackle, with so much wealth that he can simply turn a bedroom into an office.

“Is there a problem? Would you perhaps like a lozenge?”

The snort this time is louder. “I think I’m all clear now. Should we sit?”

Kilney decides he has given enough control to the man in front of him. It is time to take some back. He settles onto a chair and almost moans in delight. It’s a bloody comfortable chair. Ramshackle chuckles softly so it doesn’t affect the man’s pride. He takes the opposite chair, keeping the desk between them.

Ramshackle has a curious need to soothe Kilney. He tries to find a posture that wouldn’t intimidate the man but the more he tries, the harder he fails. So, he lets his body guide him into a pose. He sits with his hands crossed on the table, looking alert but mild.

Kilney is not a tall man. He’s not even a handsome man. There’s something about him around the mouth that speaks of a cruel streak. His suit is black, uninspiring but the shirt is snow white which serves to give him some character. He is a man’s man and it’s hard for him to swallow his pride and say what he has come here for.

It doesn’t help that Ramshackle’s face does not resolve into knowable features. Ramshackle may have eyes, nose, mouth, eyebrows and ears but they feel like ornaments. Like a pearl waiting for the right dress to be paired with.

The office is making his skin crawl and Kilney blurts out, “I don’t wish to die.”

Ramshackle smiles. Though he means it to be just a smile, it comes across as predatory. “You’re quite safe, I assure you. You haven’t signed the contract yet.”

Kilney swallows. He wishes he could remove his coat and loosen his tie. It’s stifling hot and he’s hyperventilating. Incongruously, he feels a cool breeze in his hair, a coat rack appears to his left, as if in anticipation and a glass of water materializes from thin air.

He is shaking inside, he knows he is, but outwardly, he looks cool as a cucumber. To prove to himself how calm he really is, he picks up the glass. Pretending he sees magic like this every day, he takes a sip and says nonchalantly, “Are you trying to scare me Mr. Ramshackle?”

Ramshackle rubs a finger between his eyebrows as if asking for patience. “Mr. Kilney, as your research would have informed you, the house mirrors whatever will make you most comfortable. It’s part of the service, that’s all.”

They don’t speak for a time, Ramshackle waiting, Kilney trying to find familiar ground.

When minutes pass and Kilney makes no further requests – of him or the house – Ramshackle finally says, “Would you like to see the contract?”

Contracts are something Kilney understands, he is a lawyer after all. So, he nods eagerly. He does not flinch when a piece of paper appears on the table and Ramshackle pushes it towards him.

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2 of 26 of an ongoing series The Dream Maker. You can read all posts here. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z.

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