The Reflection of Lord Rosamund

The breeze blew gently; perhaps too gently. Too gentle for an autumn night, too calm; too static. The baron, a short man with perhaps too much pride, was gazing at the great dark ocean before him. The wind blew his golden locks, brushing against his skin: like the cat he played with when he was just a boy, going round and round around the child's head. Only this breeze was cold; and though it was kind, it was cruel too. Those kind breezes are the ones who bring death to the unexpecting: the same who took the baron’s wife and child into the depths of tortuous, slow and exhausting suffering: the depths of sorrow so great that perhaps it would be better to fly off into this great dark ocean: and yet, this sorrow, this great pitiful suffering… Is only in the heart of the mourner. The deceased feast and dance in cloudy mountains where the cold never reaches their souls… Where they look over us poor mortals with pity in their eyes.

A man screamed. The silence was broken: not only broken but shattered into small intangible pieces of despair. That single scream became as an echo, repeating itself over and over again: yet, differently from an echo, the repetition only became louder and louder. People ran, perhaps oblivious to where they were going. The lights came on, but perhaps it was better not to see. See what? After all, there was nothing there. Nothing besides a man and his mirror.

And, as if the gods had been disturbed by the screeching echoes of their mortal creations, the sea became agitated with chaos.

“Calm down! There is nothing to be seen!” A sailor shouted, calmly balancing over the floor.

Still, besides the pleas for the frightened to be un-frightened, the agitation took much longer to cease.

Doctor Julius Adam Weber came from his room in a hurry. In his hands a half closed suitcase, a crumbled newspaper and an opened letter.

“I won't have any tea. Remember to feed the cats.”

Those were the only words he spoke to his maid, who had just finished brewing a cup of breakfast tea, put the table and made some butter for the doctor’s toast.

The man was objectively strange. Even after the war, he insisted on rationing all of his household materials. He never opened his windows either, for the sunlight might ruin the furniture. He never stepped out of his office, except when in a hurry such as today, his profession was peculiar, unknown. His activity during the war was dubious: some said he worked as a soldier for England, some that he was a Polish revolutionary… And some even said that he was in the Ahnenerbe, and now hiding his past with the fear of what it might mean.

But, worry not dear reader, for there is one person who knows Dr.Weber perhaps even more than he knows himself. That is the prideful baron, Ergston Rosamund. Rosamund had never spoken with the doctor; perhaps he had never even seen the face of his obsession, but still he searched and searched and spied and spied until his life was consumed by only one itching question: who is the man whom my wife loved? Nevertheless, the voice that spoke in his mind was one of falsities and lies. This grudge was futile: this memory was false. False and created by the ignorance of a man who will refuse to find truth; but today he would meet his obsession.

The captain personally greeted Adam Weber, explaining what had happened the night before. It was simple, perhaps something that did not need to take so much effort out of the minds of our travellers, but perhaps they felt bored of the shifting waves and the same empty ocean view that repeated over and over for days without end. The arrival of the doctor was a change in that monotony: though he was unknown to the general public, his name was a staple word in the mouths of policemen, detectives and even judges. Yet, he was none of those things. He was an occultist, ghost-hunter, warlock, exorcist, shadow-worker. Those titles were not all his, but that was the way he was seen by many; to the rational he was simply delusional. Once he arrived he immediately began his work.

“Captain Bakley,” The doctor spoke in his calm voice before leaving the bridge. “I must know who saw the incident first-hand.”

“Unfortunatley, only three people might be of use. But gossip spreads quickly in ships.” He handed a list with those three names to Weber, who quickly left for his interrogations.

“Miss Laurence, I must speak with you.” The “warlock” found the first individual in his list. She was rather young, perhaps only a teenager. Everything about her looked average: she wore a blue sweater and short socks, her ginger hair was in a pony-tail, but still tangled and unbrushed. Still, she seemed to have a bright mind.

“I don't know, doctor,” her voice was shy and filled with doubt. “It was almost midnight. I heard a scream so I followed the sound – I really had nothing else to do. I couldn't sleep because of sea sickness, you know? So I just followed the scream until I found an open cabin. There he was: the man, I don't know his name, laying on the floor with a mirror in his hand. There wasn’t much to it though… The mirror seemed just fine when I got there. I just thought it was funny that… Nevermind”

“Please, I need a full description of everything you saw.”

“Well… When I was out there, it was like I felt someone looking at me. I turned around but nothing was there… It's silly, really. No one was in the hallway anyway. Maybe it was–”

“Thank you.”

He left as swiftly as he came.

He ran to the next name. This one was a typical English gentleman: he wore nice suits, played golf every Sunday and had two children and a wife. There was nothing amusing about his appearance: his hair was dark blonde and his eyes a musky grey. He was not ugly, though calling him handsome is highly dubious.

“Mr.Johnson”

The witness turned swiftly. His eyes were dull, almost opaque.

“You are the doctor everyone is talking about. The women seem to claim that you are some sort of shadow-worker. I suppose it is their vivid imagination.”

“I am nothing of the kind, though I am a seeker of the truth. Please, follow me. I must interview you.”

They walked into the tea room, which seemed almost to be abandoned and forgotten by the discomforted travellers.

“Everyone is creating a fuzz over such a simple thing, no?” He pinched the tips of his fingers repeatedly, over and over again to the point where they were red and swollen. “A man screamed at a mirror. People are saying it was a ghost or some other supernatural being. Surely that is not true – I mean, definitely it isn't. He is probably ill, perhaps even mad. I don't believe in ghosts. Such things belong only in the minds of children. Not even my children believe in ghosts. They take from my side of the family…”

His voice was fidgety, almost broken.

“Please, Mr.Johnson, we are not here to discuss the reality of ghosts. I simply need to know what exactly you saw.”

“I- I didn't see anything.”

“I am sure that, with your testimony, Viscount Oakley - who is aboard - will think quite highly of you.”

“Viscount Oakley? He is here? Well, if that is the case…”

Mr.Johnson began his testimony. His braveness was exaggerated, his heroism malplaced and the details were either irrelevant or illogical. But one detail stood out: the man who screamed, according to the witness, was named Ergston Rosamund, a baron from the countryside.

The doctor left for the baron’s cabin.

“Lord Rosamund, I am Doctor Julius Adam Weber. May I come in?”

There was no answer. After a second knock, nothing either. After the third, unanswered attempt, the doctor tried the door. It was unlocked.

The room was cluttered and dark. Clothes, papers, cigars and shoes found themselves thrown to every side. Oddly, all the hand mirrors, wall mirrors and even cutlery were either covered or broken. The space, as expected for a ship, was small and cramped. The ceiling felt oppressive: like a worry that weighs over its victim.

“Lord Rosamund?”

He was not present. The doctor began his investigation, but found nothing. Besides the covered and broken mirrors, there was nothing to see. Such it seemed until Adam Weber removed the jacket that until then covered the vanity mirror: only a reflection. A reflection so perfect that perhaps the true world sits just behind it. The doctor peered out of the mirror into his own eyes, looking around to see if there was anything of value.

“Are you Lord Rosamund? I have been told I would find you here.”

He spoke to the man that had arrived just in front of him – or rather through the door, behind him. The figure did not answer.

“I am Doctor Julius Adam Weber. I have been told of a certain incident… I wish to verify some facts with you, sir.”

Still, silence. The tall figure drew closer.

“Lord Rosamund, I will take my leave. Forgive me for distur–” as he turned towards the door and the man, his eyes laid on the room as it was before: lonely and empty, devoid of the presence of its master.

Some minutes passed; the doctor had not left the room. He sat on a pile of clothes, pondering over what had happened.

“Yes, please come in. How long has it been?”

The voice came from outside; the footsteps approached the door. Adam Weber gave up on his gallantry, only to satisfy his curious soul: he slid his thin body to fit perfectly underneath the bed.

From outside emerged the baron and a tall, old man. Both smoked cigars and talked in similar manner, as old friends.

“Oh Louis, my old friend! How nice it is to see you. Come come, excuse the mess… Ah, yes, I still have that whiskey we talked about.”

The baron hurried around the room as a small rat, scattering around the mess. After pouring a few to many glasses, they relaxed and began their conversation:

“You said you had something important to tell me.” The tall man spoke, making an effort to sound concise. The baron squeezed his hands, looking away.

“Y-yes… I have told you that…”

“Well, then tell me!”

“What a nice day it is, right ol’pal?”

“Is this about the gold? I already told you anything you choose is good.”

“No… No… It is not that. Nevermind! Let us remember the good days we had!” The baron lifted his cup to the air, almost knocking himself out of his seat. The old companion, Louis, ceased smiling.

“Ergston, I have a good memory; I do not wish to hear of things I know. If you do not speak I shall leave.”

Rosamund quieted down. He became quiet for a few moments, looked around - as if to verify the privacy of his chamber - and began his recount.

“Do you remember my wife, Adelle? After she passed away… I found a love letter in her closet. Such a love letter was signed “J.A.W”, dated to five years after we married. I could not believe it: she had betrayed me all those years!” He hit his fists over the small table.

“Well, it happens to the best of us.”

“Not to me. Ever since that day I had searched and searched for who the scoundrel might be: until I found a certain Julius Adam Weber. He had sent my wife a short letter one year before she passed. He signed with his full name, but I knew it was him! The handwriting was practically identical.”

“Was it a love letter?”

“No… Something about some business with Adelle’s father.”

Both became silent.

“Well… After that I dedicated myself to searching him. I have hired private detectives, officers, historians… Everything I could find. He is a ghost-hunter… Some sort of warlock charlatan who investigates supernatural happenings. A fib, in other words. He has made a fortune, but no one knows how. I suspect he might have been involved during the war, in not so pleasant ways. He is a scoundrel, Louis” He stopped and looked around again. “A scoundrel! And he is aboard. He came to investigate that little incident that happened.”

“Aboard? I thought they had resolved the incident. It was just some madman.”

“Yes… A madman.” The baron became melancholic with those words. “The problem is… I suppose I myself have become one.”

“Why is that?”

“I have had a dream. A dream that repeats over and over. I dream that I have killed this J.A.W man. That I have been violent… Horribly, horribly violent…” His eyes stuck open, staring at the cluttered floor beneath him. “I am going insane, Louis. Mad. Every night that passes I become more anxious. Every minute I despise myself more… Am I a monster? A creature that deserves to be despised and hated by all? I can not even trust myself. Some people say that I am the one, the madman who screamed that night. But I was outside, looking at the sea… I wasn't in my room! But then, when I went to look at what happened… It was me!”

“Perhaps you have been drinking. You are a dear friend whom I have not seen in years. Anyone whom you ask will tell you this.”

“But how? When I had the first dream, I truly believed what had happened. Until I saw the doctor arriving from his speed boat. And still whenever I wake-up, I believe my own nightmare. Was I downstairs yesterday? Did I drink sherry?”

“No. You went to sleep early. You do not like sherry.”

“Yes… That is true… I do not like sherry.”

Silence once more. The waves outside crashed in chaos and fury as the winds intensified.

“I am afraid of my own reflection. That is what I wished to say.”

“Is this why your mirrors are covered? I thought you were still mourning.”

“I am. I am mourning myself! What has happened to me? Whenever I look into a mirror… I only see my nightmare. I only see death and blood. I see hate! Hate!” Rosamund collapsed on his chair. He wept like a small child. Louis, being over his friend, tried to comfort the old man.

“They become worse every day… There is no escape.”

“Stay here. I know a psychologist who is on board. Perhaps he can help you.”

Rosamund closed his eyes.

“My old friend, do not worry for this will be solved!”

“Thank you Louis…”

The door opened and closed again. Alone in the room, Rosamund remained in the same position.

“Louis is dead.”

He spoke to himself, or perhaps in a way to the doctor, who still found himself cramped under the bed.

“Louis died four years ago… How… How could that be?” His voice became coarse and softer. His eyes peered straight at the door, as if fixated by something. It was at this moment that Adam Weber came from under the bed, standing behind the baron.

“Excuse me, Lord Rosamund.”

Those words acted as a cannon which explodes at midnight. The baron jumped up, his face red with rage and whiskey.

“How dare you snoo-” He stopped. His eyes rested upon the doctor’s thin face. “You are Julius Adam Weber, the man I – I didn’t - killed”

“Yes. I am Julius Adam Weber, the man who you did not kill.”

The baron smiled in relief, until his face was consumed by rage.

“I know you very well, mister Weber… I know what you did with my wife!”

“Who?”

“Dont play games with me, Weber! I know you loved her!”

“How could I have loved a woman who lived so long ago?”

“Nice try, young scoundrel! Though the winter comes, and freezes my old heart, thy smile is the sun, that pierces like a dart. Do these lines sound familiar?”

“They do not.”

“What year were you born?”

“1918. I am 32 years old, sir.”

“Prove it.”

The doctor took a passport from his pocket and showed it to the insisting baron.

“How old are you?”

“I-I am 40.”

“When were you born?”

“May, 1875.”

“That was 75 years ago, sir.” The doctor took a small calendar from his pocket.

“H-how?” The baron collapsed over his chair. “Am I really mad? Is this not a dream? The other side of a mirror, perhaps?”

“Look.”

The doctor looked at the great mirror on the wall.

“Don’t! Don't!" Those words were late. The jacket which covered the mirror had already been removed. Lord Rosamund fell in agony. His eyes reverted down, tears coming forth.”

“Look. I want you to look clearly in the mirror.”

“I can not! It is horrible! Hateful!”

“If you look, it will go away.”

“You are a quack! A liar! You want me mad, that's what!”

“Look!”

The baron seemed humbled. He wiped his tears and stared straight at the mirror. He did not look away, though he tried.

“Why… How come?” He looked at the doctor, his eyes flowing with tears once more… But now tears of joy. “I see a vast tulip field. My wife, Adelle is there… She is smiling… She calls me. She loves me for I am not evil!”

“Does she?”

“ Forgive me, Julius Adam… I have hated you without knowing you. I have despised you without understanding the truth… I must go – I must return. I must go to Adelle. Farewell my brother!”

The baron fell over the floor. Cold and dead.