The Arrested Heart

It was seven in the morning in the mid of winter, and the chill could be felt through to the bone. The Hastings Mansion stood looming upon the gardens that surrounded it, casting a grand yet lonely facade, the decades having relegated to the past the breathtaking beauty it was. But no, it was still beautiful, ornate and golden, in the way only such mansions of old could be. Yet, one could say in this precise moment, this precise morning, there was something ominous there, darkening the spires ever so slightly, tinting the gold crimson, the fog heavier than it should be. The path to the house was a long and windy path and as Mr. Xavier stepped forward, closer, and closer, to the establishment before him, he could feel a strong desire to turn back and leave, but he convinced himself to continue onwards, for he had of course accepted the invitation to spend the night with him and some other friends that Robert Hastings had sent to him months ago. It had been a long while since he had seen his friend and the desire to speak with him once more overpowered the uneasy feeling that he felt entering upon the path to the mansion. Perhaps he should have listened to that feeling for all the people invited who had walked upon that path had experienced the same strange incessant urge to leave and never return, but as most believed they ought to ignore such irrational fears, including Mr. Xavier, they continued down the path and entered. Mr. Xavier, of course, followed their example, and entered also, dismissing his fears as the result of the chill in the air.
It was quite a bit darker in the hall than he expected for such a well kept mansion and it was not, if he recalled correctly, in the character of his friend to allow such a place to become dinghy, if one could pardon the strong word. However, soon enough, Xavier was greeted by his old friend who led him quickly to where the others were. As he sat down upon the armchair that Hastings had directed him to, he could not help but notice the sad countenance and deadly thin body that his friend had transformed into in the months since he had last seen him and he could not help but exclaim, “My dear friend, Hastings, what has made you so ill? I cannot bear to think of what has happened to sap your strength! Alas! What has changed you so?”
With a furrowed brow, Hastings replied gravely, “I have been troubled for months and I am in need of great help. As such it is with great sorrow that I have invited you to this place.”
The room was silent for a moment as every man in the room awaited with what seemed to be baited breath for the next words to come out of their dear friend’s mouth.
“Four months ago, in this very same room, Mr. John Thornhill, with whom some of you are familiar with, was found dead upon the floor, having been shot in the head. The constable ruled it of, course, a self inflicted death, due to insanity, and I had accepted such at first, but then I recalled that Mr. Thornhill was, in secret, a left-handed man, and had learned to shoot in such a manner, and thus the angle could not have matched the one that was measured.”
Xavier stood up abruptly and looked into his friend’s eyes, and said with great compassion, “My dear friend, I hate to see you so overwhelmed over such, I am sure the constable was correct, and the poor man’s death should be laid to rest?”
His friend muttered quietly, “Yes. Yes. Yes, We should put the man’s death to rest” almost as if trying to reassure himself. He seemed to nod in agreement and when he looked up, he had the signature smile on his face that everyone could remember him by, and appeared to cheer up quite rapidly.
Xavier was relieved to see his friend listen to the logic of the matter, and as such, he quickly offered, “Is anyone interested in a spot of lunch?”
He looked around, expectantly, and everyone quickly agreed, hoping to lay the issue of death aside. Requesting lunch was an easy request to the butler who stood at ready and while food was awaited for, Xavier introduced himself, “As I have not met you all before, my name is Sebastian Xavier, and I would consider myself one of the closest friends of Mr. Hastings here, and who might you all be?”
Mr. Vonnegut introduced himself as a mathematics professor, Mr. Charles, a lawyer, at an up and coming firm, Mr. Green, a businessman, of the same import as the late Mr. Thornhill, and last but not least, Mr. Ricewater, a young and handsome actor, who had the strange dream of relocating to Hollywood, strange according to Mr. Xavier, of course. He could not help but wonder how his friend had met these men, surprised at the variety of careers represented in front of him.
So, with a curious tone, Xavier exclaimed, “My dear friend! How did you come about gaining the friendships of these men? They are all quite far from your circle of influence, if I could remark, though it is quite impolite to do such.” He chuckled at his impertinence, but his friend was quite used to such rudeness from him, so he did not expect any harm to come from such a direct question.
Hastings slightly smirked and shook his head, answering, “Sebastian is quite rude don’t you think, but he has been such the entire length of our friendship, so I’ve come to appreciate his frankness at this point, I believe.”
Hastings paused there for a moment, licked his lips, then continued, “Well, if you must know, I met these fine gentlemen at the party that you so gladly attended as well, about four months ago, however, you were quite incapacitated at that point, so I suppose you forgot about it all!”
Xavier offered an imitation of offence at the teasing his friend, kindly, offered him. Then he returned to reality in his composure and remarked, “Ah! Well then, it is doubly a pleasure to meet you all then as I missed the chance and opportunity last time.” He gave a flourished bow and tipped his imaginary hat, as if he was a performer himself.
At that, Hastings gave the impression that he would so desire to roll his eyes, however, he was in polite company and thus restrained himself from doing so. Instead, he pursed his lips and said, “Ah, the expected theatrics from my dear friend, Sebastian Xavier.”
At this time, the food was served, and the six men, gladly started its consumption, and by the end, they were all slightly tipsy and joyful, as much as alcohol could make them. Xavier was glad his friend had moved passed the unfortunate circumstances of Mr. Thornhill’s death in such a quick manner, and thus smiled at the enjoyment on Robert’s face. But, in reality, this was not the case, for Hastings was only delaying for the moment and had allowed Xavier to pull him into merriment and fun. No, he still was convinced that the poor man had not killed himself, no he was, in truth, murdered, and nothing could change his mind.