Get Ready 'Cause Here I Come Solo Finished

As Simon opened the door, he was distracted from the flickering streetlamps, blinking once, blinking twice, blinking three times before illuminating. The lights were programmed to come on from dusk and remain on until around midnight, and then they would come back on once more from around 5:30am until dawn. This meant that it was currently nearing 10PM and on a normal day, his Aunt Maggie would already be home from work but Simon knew she would be late these next few days. The bookstore/bakery where she worked was doing a store reset - rearranging everything and changing the overall layout and flow of the business. She had been quite excited about it for some time.

He probably shouldn't have answered the door this late but 1) he lived in a relatively safe neighborhood in South Kensington, London, and 2) he hadn't thought of that ahead of time and now it was too late; the door was already open. Simon watched as a man set down a wooden box just outside the small overhang over the doorway to his home.

The man then looked up, appearing to perhaps be surprised that someone answered or maybe surprised by who answered. Simon didn't recognize him, but he watched as the man remained still, looking over all of his features as if he was trying to gather something.

While this was all happening and the man seemed to be surveying him, Simon kept his attention on this man. There was something almost familiar about him in some way and yet he seemed to maybe give off some sort of unsettling feeling all the same - but perhaps it was only at the intent way he was looking at him.

"My, where are my manners?" the man asked as he presented Simon with a smile. "Good evening. Would this be the Kincaid Residence?" His voice alone was rather velvety and when he spoke Simon no longer felt that odd sort of unsettling feeling. Now it was Simon to pause. What was it about this guy? Had he known him from somewhere? He seemed to be somewhere around his 30s, had fair-skin, light brown hair, and...some sort of light colored eyes. It was difficult to tell for some reason.

"You've got the right place!" Simon confirmed. "Anything I can help you with?" The man, who had seemed more relaxed just a moment ago, was back to watching Simon intently, as if trying to place him. Perhaps he was wondering where this boy fell into the realm of the Kincaid family. There seemed to be a lot of hesitation on his part, but he still somehow handled it with confidence and composure.

The man lowered his gaze for a moment and glanced back up to Simon. "May I speak to Arabella?"

Simon wasn't expecting those words. He thought the man would be there for one of two reasons; either to sell something despite the late hour or be looking for his aunt, Maggie Kincaid. After all, she was a selfless, fun-loving, beautiful young woman of twenty-six and it would be only normal for her to have some admirers.

But Arabella?

Arabella Kincaid was his mother. His mother who he didn't unfortunately remember personally but kept her memory alive through stories he heard from his aunt. She had passed away nine years ago at the young age of twenty.

Clearly this man must not have known or else he wouldn't be standing there asking for her. As religious as Simon was, it wasn't as if he had a personal connection with God and could somehow deliver her spirit there or communicate with those who passed on. But what did he say to him? How did he word this?

"I uhh..." Simon paused, either changing his statement in mid-thought or perhaps still trying to find his statement. He was struggling to convert all the thoughts racing through his mind into words. "She..."

The man was doing it again. Watching him. Inspecting him. Analyzing him. Judging him? Simon didn't know exactly.

"My mum, she's not alive," the words came out of Simon's mouth before he really could piece together how it sounded. It sounded odd. It was like if he was talking to anyone else he would have said something along the lines of: Oh, my mum? She fell ill shortly after I was born and passed away when I was three years old; yet when he spoke to this man, it was as if his communication skills weren't somehow up to par to deal with the conversation.

The man just watched him, his eyes now fixated directly into Simon's, causing him to feel terribly uneasy.

"What I mean to say is...she passed away many years ago. I'm..." Another pause. Simon was what? Sorry? He didn't know this man's relationship to his mother and he certainly didn't need to be apologizing to HIM for this. Simon didn't finish his statement.

Nor did he need to.

The man looked down, almost seeming in an attempt to advert his gaze and then he looked over his shoulder down the darkened street. His calm composure had left him and he now seemed agitated. "My apologies for this intrusion," he mustered out softly before turning and swiftly heading down the street. He strode quickly.

At one point Simon stepped out of the door, as if to try and follow him by gaze but his foot tapped the wooden box the man had placed down upon his arrival. Simon leaned down and picked it up and hurried down the street to follow the man and return it but it seemed he had disappeared into the darkness of the night.