“Can you hear me, sir? It’s me, Alan,� Frisch pleaded, slapping Lott’s cheek gently. Lott said nothing, but stared forward at Ralf with hollow, watery eyes.

Remaining silent, he slowly raised his right arm and pointed at the gawking steward. Frisch turned around, to his horror. Blood was splattered down his neck, shirt and vest, dripping from his face, which was covered in long, deep gashes.

With a gasp, Eric stepped backwards, hitting the door with his hip and crying out.

“Be quiet!� Frisch gasped, “He’ll hear you!� He turned to shake Lott, who didn’t react.
“Please,� Frisch begged to Eric, “Get help! Tell the police, tell- tell anyone!�

Eric nodded hastily and ran from the room, shoes sliding on the slick marble as he did so. He could just hear Frisch’s sad, scared sobs before the door closed solidly behind. Tears streamed from his eyes as he ran blindly through the hallway, what had he gotten into?

Mr. Frisch’s desperate, pained, ‘Please,’ rang through his head alongside images of Mr. Rittevon sick smile, and piercing eyes.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, he wasn’t paying attention to where he was running and nearly crashed right into an elderly man dragging an inordinate amount of large suitcases.

“Oh! Watch out where you’re going, boy!� the flustered Heinrich said, gathering up a suitcase that had fallen, “Gave me quite a start, you did.�

Eric apologized, taking a few of the cases from the elderly man. “I take it you heard Herr Rittevon’s orders already,’ he said, and Heinrich shook his head.

“You see, a good servant knows when something is required before it’s voiced,� he replied, with a smile, “Help me get these up the stairs, won’t you?�

Eric silently took several of the suitcases and pulled them gently up the white marble stairs, Heinrich following behind him.

They walked quickly down the hallway, the suitcase wheels squeaking slightly as they rolled. It wasn’t long before they came to two large doors, upon which Heinrich knocked gently.

“Yes, come in,� came Mr. Rittevon’s voice from inside. Just as Eric touched the doorknob, there was an electronic clank and the door opened automatically.

Eric followed Heinrich in and was taken back by the sight before him. There were piles of clothes on the floor, taken from a large walk-in closet to his left.

“Start packing that,� Mr. Rittevon ordered. Eric hadn’t seen him until he spoke.

He watched in horror as his employer produced a rather large, very shiny dagger from a nightstand beside an elegant silken bed. He pulled the sheets up and off the bed halfway, then slit a two-foot-long hole in the mattress. After placing the dagger back into the drawer, he reached both hands in the hole and, after a few seconds of struggle, pulled out a shiny black briefcase with two very sturdy looking locks.

Mr. Rittevon turned, to notice Eric watching him with a shocked expression on his face.

“Make sure I do not forget this,� Mr. Rittevon said, placing the case on the floor beside the nightstand.

“Yes, sir,� Eric said hastily, and kneeled to start folding a pile of clothes next to him.

“Heinrich,� he heard Mr. Rittevon say behind him, “Which pair of cufflinks do you think I should take? I can’t make up my mind.�

“I always thought you looked best in the diamond ones, sir,� Heinrich replied, not looking up.

“Yes, but… I like the other ones. Steel befits me, don’t you think?�

Heinrich sighed. “Yes, sir.�

“Very well, I’ll take them both.�

Eric glanced over at the two boxes thrown into the suitcase beside him, and he was suddenly reminded of the ruby that matched Mr. Frisch’s blood.

Remembering the desperate plead for help, he chastised himself mentally for forgetting. How could he have forgotten a thing like that?

Deep in his thoughts, he jumped when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He flinched and turned around quickly, to face Mr. Rittevon nervously.

“Do you like these?� Mr. Rittevon asked, hollowly. He held two platinum and peridot cufflinks in his hand. “I never did.�

Eric nodded a little, daring to look up into his employer’s face. To his surprise, there was no malicious smile, or piercing glare. For once, the daunting Mr. Rittevon looked like an ordinary man. There was a tired look on his face, but he looked hurried, like he would miss a train or be late for an evening out.

“They’re very nice, sir,� Eric said, blankly. Mr. Rittevon kneeled beside him, and went to pin one onto the cuff of Eric’s immaculate dress shirt, pulling back the sleeve of his jacket a little.

Eric was absolutely still as he did so, chancing a curious glance back into his employer’s face. Hurried, but concentrated, his normally very intimidating blue eyes were as gentle as his hands as he pinned the second cufflink on.

Eric looked away as Mr. Rittevon moved, afraid he would catch him watching.

“Yes, that looks very nice,� he said, tilting his head slightly to inspect his work, “Keep them.� With that, Mr. Rittevon stood up and walked over to a neatly folded pile of clothes, placing them quickly into an open suitcase.

Eric stared at his employer’s gift, breathless. They really did look nice, and Eric was impressed.

How elegant they looked, the perfect men’s accessory. Hidden, yet not. An indulgence, or a necessity for the modern gentleman? Up to you to decide.

Eric let a little smile turn up the corners to his lips as he returned to folding, glancing over at his wrists every once in a while.

After several minutes, all the clothes were packed into the suitcase, and Mr. Rittevon managed to cram a large notebook computer into the last one, along with a few disks.

“Burn the other disks, and all of my papers,� he muttered to Heinrich, who nodded.

“Where are you going?� Eric asked, hastily adding a “Sir,� after Mr. Rittevon’s authoritative glare in his direction.

“To an old friend’s,� Mr. Rittevon replied offhandedly, before resuming his quiet instructions to Heinrich. “Oh, and bury the good china,� he finished, before taking his cell-phone out of his pocket and walking out of the room.

Heinrich sighed, getting to his feet. “I hoped it would never come to this,� he said to himself, quietly. “Come, let’s get these downstairs.�

“Yes, sir,� Eric replied, taking the handles of four heavy ones, and following Heinrich through the doors and out of the room.

Mr. Rittevon was nowhere to be seen, but there was a flurry of activity downstairs. Several maids and servants, some of which Eric had never seen or spoken to, were hurrying about, taking down paintings, furniture, and light fixtures. Even the gargantuan crystal chandelier was being taken down and disassembled.

With difficulty, Eric lifted the suitcases and followed Heinrich down the staircase. There were several large cardboard boxed stacked beside the two massive, ornate front doors leading to the outside world.

As two servants carried a large box past him and put it next to the pile, Eric realized they were packing up Mr. Rittevon’s things. After another glance at his new cufflinks, he tried to make out what the shipping address was, printed on the side of a box. However, as he lacked the ability to read upside-down, he couldn’t, and put it out of his mind.

After placing the suitcases beside the door, on the opposite side to where the boxes were, Heinrich thanked Eric for his help and then rushed off, talking hurriedly to himself in German.

Feeling a bit lost amongst the great rushing and flurrying of the servants as he wandered back to the staircase, Eric glanced at his watch, forgetting it had stopped somewhere in the night.

Suddenly, he felt a significant presence behind him, and he turned around quickly. Mr. Rittevon stood behind him, with no discernible expression. With a quick movement, he grabbed the wrist of a maid walking by. She jumped.

“Load my suitcases in the ’42, and get a driver,� he ordered, “Have it meet me at the airport.� She bowed, hurrying away after he let go of her. “You’re coming with me,� he said to Eric, who suddenly remembered something as Mr. Rittevon turned to walk away.

“Sir, wait! Your briefcase, the one upstairs that you told me to remind-“

“Yes, yes, I’ll get it later,� Mr. Rittevon said, cutting Eric off. “Follow me.� Void of thought, Eric hurried to obey, somehow keeping up with his employer’s long strides without looking desperate.

Eric followed Mr. Rittevon out the front doors, into the bright sunlight. He blinked as his eyes struggled to adjust.

After a long walkway lined with hedges, there were several stairs and a circular driveway. He could just see the top of a black car in the distance, at the closest part of the driveway. Eric jumped as Mr. Rittevon touched his hand.

“Take these,� he said, pressing a ring of keys into Eric’s hand, “Start the car, get the heater going.� As Mr. Rittevon spoke, a gust of frigid air blew across the lawn, only slightly impeded by the hedges. Eric shivered.

“Yes, sir,� he replied, and his employer turned and walked back into the house. The doors closed solidly, and Eric started down the walkway, buffeted by the cold wind every so often. His heart skipped a beat as the car came into view.

A brand-new black Bugatti Veyron sat dauntingly in the driveway. Eric froze. He was afraid to even breathe on it, much less start the million-dollar car.

He stood gaping for a minute, until he heard a faint sound behind him.

Turning, he saw his employer walking away from the doors and down the walkway towards him. He had donned black leather gloves, and the briefcase Eric had seen earlier was handcuffed to his wrist. His black shoes gleamed in the sunlight for a second as he walked smoothly, seeming to glide over the paved ground. As he neared, he seemed to exude a malicious, threatening energy that sent shivers down Eric’s spine, no longer the ordinary man Eric saw earlier.


“Sir-� Eric started to say, but Mr. Rittevon breezed by him, walking smoothly down the stairs and stopping by the passengers side of the car. He touched the handle not attached to the briefcase to the door handle, then looked back at Eric, annoyed.

Silently, chastising himself mentally, Eric stepped forward, tripping a little over the top step and stumbling awkwardly over to his employer.

“Aren’t you driving, sir?� he asked, nervously. Mr. Rittevon’s lip curled. He lifted left arm up, pulling the heavy looking briefcase up with it.

“What do you think?�

Eric winced, and hurried to the other side of the car, walking a wide circle around it and the incensed Mr. Rittevon.

“Sir?� he said, glancing nervously at the car, “Are you sure you want me to-� He was silenced by a glance and winced again, reaching for the handle.

Pulling it, he realized it was locked. Cheeks reddening, he avoided his employers gaze, ducking a little bit. He fumbled through the keys for the electronic pad, pressing the first button with something resembling a lock. The headlights flashed twice, and the car’s horn honked loudly.

Eric jumped, mentally beating himself. Looking closer to the pad, he pressed the button with an unlocked padlock on it, and there was a clicking noise. He grabbed the handle and pulled, and to his surprise, the door opened …up? ‘Of course,’ he thought, reddening further, ‘It’s gull-winged.’

Getting into his car, he bumped his head on the door and muttered a curse under his breath, trying to ignore the seething energy his already seated employer was exuding.

He ducked under the door and sat down in front of the steering wheel, running a finger over the silver ‘B’ in the middle. Hands shaking, he inserted the key and turned it. The engine started up immediately, with a low humming noise. He could feel his employer’s agitation, so he put his hands on the steering wheel and touched his foot to the gas.

The car crawled out of the driveway at an agonizingly slow pace, and Eric noticed Mr. Rittevon’s gloved hand clench into a fist. After a minute or so, Eric turned onto a long, paved road that was completely empty, bordered by a thick forest.

“You can go faster now,� Mr. Rittevon said, tensely, and Eric quickly did so, pushing his foot to the accelerator with a bit more pressure. The car lurched forward, and Eric didn’t hear the engine stall.

With a snarl, Mr. Rittevon grabbed the stick shift and pushed it forward.

“Oh, right. It’s… it’s manual,� Eric said quietly, cursing himself, “I’m sorry, sir.�

“Shut up.�

Eric stayed quiet, maneuvering the car along the road’s gentle turns.

“Oh dear Christ. Can’t you see I’m in a hurry?!� Mr. Rittevon snarled, and Eric apologized hastily, speeding the car up. This time, he remembered to shift.

With a glance at the speedometer, Eric blinked. Eighty miles already? A sudden idea came. He pushed his foot to the pedal a little more. One hundred. One hundred-twenty. One twenty-five. One thirty-

“Having fun?� snapped Mr. Rittevon, cutting Eric’s enthusiasm effectively. Eric remained silent, but didn’t ease past one-hundred ten.

A few minutes later, Mr. Rittevon spoke up.

“I’d slow down if I were you. There’s a gate coming up.�

Eric mumbled a thanks, and sure enough, he could see one in the distance, in the middle of brick walls topped with barbed wire. He started to slow down, with intent to stop, but the gate opened automatically and he drove through at eighty miles an hour.

“There’s a highway soon.�

Eric acknowledged him. He could see cars in the distance where the trees stopped. Pressing the brake firmly, the car slowed down incredibly quickly, and it stopped just in time. Eric waited for an opening in the other cars, and as the little road went directly into the highway, those didn’t come easily.

“Go, now!� Mr. Rittevon yelled, and Eric impulsively slammed his foot onto the accelerator. With incredible speed, the car zoomed forward between cars, missing the wall by an inch as Eric jerked the wheel to the side. Drivers behind them honked their horns in contempt, and Mr. Rittevon snarled words under his breath.

Heart pounding, Eric regained his composure. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Mr. Rittevon undo his seatbelt and lean forward onto the dashboard, a blank expression on his face.

Eric took his eyes from the road to glance at his employer. His eyes were blank as he gazed into the distance, betraying nothing. He let out a long, tired sigh, and turned to look at Eric, who flicked his eyes back to the road, speeding up and weaving between cars.

Suddenly, a driver behind them honked his horn in contempt, holding it down for ten seconds. He came dangerously close to the back of the car, and Eric sped up a little, moving his eyes from the rearview mirror to the road.

The highway was nearly empty, and the other driver, in a red Camaro, matched Eric’s speed. Mr. Rittevon, suddenly very angry, rolled the window down and leaned out of it, getting a look at the other driver.

“Speed up,� Mr. Rittevon ordered, sitting back down and closing the window. He pushed his finger into the sunroof button, opening it.

“Move your legs over!� he yelled, and Eric obeyed, careful to keep the wheel steady. His employer grunted a little as he moved, turning around in his seat then standing up, out of the sunroof.

Eric glanced at the speedometer. One forty-three. He wondered if Mr. Rittevon did this sort of thing often.

Glancing into the rear-view mirror, he could see the other driver, livid, who mouthed obscenities before surging forward. Eric pressed his foot on the pedal, barely avoiding the sharp nose of the Camaro behind them. Taking one last glance at the road ahead, Eric chanced a glance up at Mr. Rittevon.

To his horror, his employer’s arms were both outstretched, with both middle fingers raised. After a minute or so of chase, the other driver suddenly dropped back.

Mr. Rittevon waited a few seconds, then came back into the car, laughing uncontrollably, not a pleasant sound. Hollow and thin, it did not convey any sort of happiness at all.

Eric looked over at him, and froze.

There was a gun in Mr. Rittevon’s hand. He tucked it smoothly back into somewhere inside his jacket, and let out another long sigh, leaning his head back against the headrest. He pulled a comb from his pants and ran it through his hair, returning it to normal from it’s windblown state.

“Can you get to the airport from here?� he asked, still fixing his hair.

“Yes, sir,� Eric replied, voice shaking as he watched him in his peripheral vision.

“Good,� his employer said, putting his comb away, “At this speed, fuel will be depleted in one half-hour.�

“Yes, sir,� Eric said, voice wavering a little. Mr. Rittevon leaned over a little, resting his head against the window with a sigh. Eric looked away, at the road before him.

Several minutes later, a sign flashed by, and Eric was able to catch a few words. ‘Exit ahead.’ Glancing at the speedometer, he gasped. Two-hundred seventy. He pressed his foot to the brake, slowly but firmly. Miraculously, the car slowed down in time for him to catch the ramp.

At a stop, Eric looked over at Mr. Rittevon, who seemed to be already asleep. Surprised, Eric suddenly noticed the light was green. Driving forward, he also noticed that the fuel gauge showed that fuel was dangerously low. Mr. Rittevon was right. Luckily, Eric spotted a gas station right away.

As he pulled up next to a pump, he noticed people had been staring. ‘Look at that car,’ some people mouthed to others.

Eric shifted his gaze, watching as a gas station attendant walked up the car. He rolled down the window, and the attendant raised his eyebrows.

“Nice ride, Mac,� he said. “Haven’t seen you around. You from outta town?� Eric smiled nervously, and nodded.

“Do…do you think you could…?� Eric struggled to ask, carefully trying not to wake a twitching Mr. Rittevon.

“Uh… sure thing, Mac,� the attendant said, turning away quickly. “Premium?�


“Yes-� Eric bit back the word ‘Sir’ in his response, and Mr. Rittevon shifted a little, finally awake.

“Where are we?� Mr. Rittevon muttered, not kindly, as he sat up.

“A gas station, sir. Fuel is low,� he replied, turning away.

“I told you it would be,� Mr. Rittevon snapped. Eric flinched. “Who is that over there?� Eric turned in the direction his employer pointed to.

“The attendant, sir,� Eric replied.

“Is he pumping premium?� Mr. Rittevon asked, suddenly tense.

“Yes, sir.�

“Good.�

It was silent for a minute more until the attendant peeked in through the window.

“All filled up, Mac. Please pay the man inside,� he said. “Oh, hullo there,� he said with a chuckle to Mr. Rittevon, “Good morning to you!�

Eric braced himself.

“Oh, shut up, you filthy, dim-witted, slack-jawed cross-breeding wage donkey!� Mr. Rittevon snarled, opening the door and getting out. The attendant stepped back, blinking. Eric opened his door.

“I’m so sorry,� he whispered to the attendant, before hurrying after his employer.
Mr. Rittevon pushed the door open forcefully, and a little bell on the inside handle jingled noisily.

“Pump eight,� Mr. Rittevon growled to the clerk, who pressed a few buttons on a cash register.

“That’ll be $50.84, sir,� the clerk said, and Mr. Rittevon reached in his coat pocket for his wallet, pulling out a silver card and tossing it onto the counter. The clerk picked it up and ran it through the machine.

“I’m sorry sir, but this card is invalid,� he said, handing it back. Mr. Rittevon, with a trapped look on his face, pulled out six different cards, placing each onto the counter. The clerk processed each one respectively, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, sir. Your cards are invalid. Do you have cash on you?�

Mr. Rittevon shook his head, turning away.

“I…no,� he mumbled, letting out a little, desperate whimper. Regaining his composure, he turned back to the counter and pulled back the sleeves of his coat, revealing many pairs of cufflinks. Eric’s jaw dropped.

“That top pair, there,� Mr. Rittevon mumbled, “But, along with paying for the gasoline, I want your finest bottle of wine.� The clerk frowned.

“We don’t sell wine, sir,� he said, carefully unpinning the top pair in a long line of elegant cufflinks.

“Brandy? Whiskey? Gin?� Mr. Rittevon asked, a tiny bit of desperation coming into his voice. The clerk shook his head.

“The only alcohol we have stocked right now is Budweiser beer,� the clerk said, and Mr. Rittevon cursed.

“That won’t do, that won’t do,� he muttered, turning to look at the stock of beverages. “Those cufflinks cost me eight-hundred dollars. I want as many Red Bulls as you can fit into the trunk of my car,� he ordered, pointing to the Bugatti outside.

The clerk blinked. “Are you sure, sir?� Mr. Rittevon nodded firmly. “Get to it.�

The clerk, with a shrug, walked around the counter and opened the door, calling to the attendant outside for help. Mr. Rittevon turned around, and put his hands on Eric’s shoulders.

“I had billions, Eric,� he said, voice wavering and cracking, “It’s gone.�

With what almost resembled a sob, he slid his arms around Eric and squeezed him tightly, resting his head on Eric’s shoulder.

“Look, what am I now? What do I have?� Eric remained silent, patting his employer firmly on the back. “I’m… I’m nothing,� Mr. Rittevon whispered.

In his peripheral vision, Eric noticed several people gather at the doorway, staring. Suddenly, Mr. Rittevon tensed up, and stepped back, seething.

“Never. Touch me. Again. Ever,� Mr. Rittevon snarled. Eric blinked, taken aback. In a lightning quick movement, Mr. Rittevon backhanded him across the face, with such force that he fell.

Blinded with pain for several seconds, Eric cradled his burning face in his hands until there was a light touch on his shoulder. Eric flinched.

“You okay, Mac?� asked a friendly voice to his left. Eric opened his eyes to see the station attendant kneeling beside him, a concerned look on his face. “Let’s get you up.�

The attendant pulled Eric to his feet, holding him steady for a second until he could stand on his own.

“That looked like it really hurt,� he said, “Do you want a contact, Mac?�

“What is that? No,� Eric said, shaking his head. “Where’d he go?�

“He’s in your car. We got all the drinks you wanted, are you sure you’re gonna be okay?�

Eric shook his head. “My car? No… it’s his. Thanks for all your help,� he mumbled, walking out the door. The bells on the handle jingled as he did so, leaving the astonished and concerned station attendant alone.

Pulling the door up, he got in the car without hitting his head on the bottom of the door.

Ignoring Mr. Rittevon, he started the car up and left the gas station, silent. His cheek continued to sting, and he began to wish he had asked the attendant for an ice pack, or a contact, whatever that was.

It remained silent for several more minutes as Eric drove back onto the highway.
Mr. Rittevon leaned forward onto the dashboard, looking disdainfully off into the distance.

“Take the next exit,� he muttered, continuing to stare ahead. Eric said nothing in return, but changed lanes in preparation. The ramp came up faster then he expected, and he slowed down, turning onto it. Stopping at the light, he noticed a sign for the airport, leading him left.

“No, keep going for a while,� Mr. Rittevon ordered, and Eric started to protest, but was cut off. “Just do it.� With a shrug, Eric obeyed.

After a little drive, Mr. Rittevon pointed him to a small paved road leading off the main one. Eric turned despite what his conscience was telling him, and it wasn’t more than two minutes until he could see the back end of the airport.

Coming to what looked like a lone toll box, he slowed down and rolled down his window, searching for a change box. The toll officer peered at him suspiciously until Mr. Rittevon leaned over Eric, showing a card of identification.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rittevon. Your plane is waiting, go on through.� With that, the officer pressed a button and the guard arm lifted. Eric drove through, with a glance at his employer, whose expression betrayed nothing.

Suddenly, Eric realized he was driving on tarmac, towards a large private jet. Attendants waved him over to the right to park next to an old-fashioned shiny black car, made perhaps in the 1930’s or 40’s. Mr. Rittevon got out of the car as soon as it stopped, walking over to his plane.

“Good morning, Herr Rittevon,� greeted a man in a pilot’s uniform, walking alongside his passenger, “Your luggage arrived several minutes ago. If you’re ready to depart, we’re all fueled up and ready to go.�

“Excellent. Let’s get going,� Mr. Rittevon snapped, “Eric! What are you waiting for?�
Frowning, Eric hurried away from the car after his employer, waiting behind him as he offered his hand to the pilot, who took it and helped him up onto the staircase.

“I’m coming with you, sir?� Eric asked as he walked up the stairway, hesitant.

“What does it look like?� his employer replied, not kindly.

With a sinking feeling, Eric followed Mr. Rittevon onto the plane, and he could hear the engines start to warm up. The door was closed behind him, and he stood silent, afraid to touch anything.

His employer was seated at small table with a glass of wine, talking to the pilot who stood next to him. After the pilot smiled and walked away towards the front of the place, Mr. Rittevon downed his glass of wine and sighed, gazing lazily out the window as the plane taxied to the runway.

“Have a seat, Eric,� Mr. Rittevon said, void of emotion, “We’re going to take off soon.� Eric made his way over to a leather couch on the opposite side of the plane.

An attractive young woman walked up to him with a pen and pad of paper.

“Would you like something to drink?� she asked, tilting her head a little in a very Mr. Rittevon-esque manner. Eric’s heart skipped a beat.

“Uh… Just some water would be fine for right now, thank you,� he replied, with a forced smile.

“I’ll be right back with that, sir,� she said, flipping her dark hair a little as she turned away.

Eric blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever been called ‘sir’ in his life.

“Erm, Felicity?� Mr. Rittevon called, and the attendant turned around.

“Yes, Daddy?�

Eric’s heart stopped. She was Mr. Rittevon’s daughter? But…

“Some more wine, please,� he said, handing her his glass. Eric sat still, watching her as she walked out of his sight. Now that he thought about it, yes, she had his stunning blue eyes and striking dark hair. Just then, he felt a bit nauseous.

Suddenly, he was aware of Mr. Rittevon sitting beside him. He jumped, with a gasp, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline.

“I’m going to take a nap now,� Mr. Rittevon said, emotionlessly, “Unless you want to share this couch with me as I do so, I suggest you find another seat.�

Getting up quickly, he walked over to the seat his employer had been previously seated in, and sat down with a sigh. He could feel Mr. Rittevon watching him for a minute, and after a little while, he dared a glance back.

His daunting employer was laying on his stomach, quite asleep. The couch was too short for him, and his feet stuck off the end. His face was like a mask, flawless and impossibly still. A single ray of light fell across his eyes, reflecting off his glasses. Eric shook his head, forcing his eyes to look away, out the window instead.

He was shocked to see that the plane had taken off, and they were already above the clouds. It was so smooth, he didn’t even notice lift-off.

Suddenly, a reflection of Mr. Rittevon’s face appeared in the window. Eric whipped around, heart pounding. His employer lay still, sleeping on the couch. Turning back to the window, it was gone.

Eric squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Must have been a trick… trick of the light.
With a sigh, he leaned forward, onto the table. A glass of water was placed in front of him, and he lifted his head to meet the gaze of the attractive dark-haired attendant, who placed her hand lightly on his shoulder.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you want,� she said, tilting her head slightly and touching his shoulder, before turning to walk away.

Eric remained silent, finding himself looking over at Mr. Rittevon again. He was so… still. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. A sleeve of his coat jacket had come up a bit, revealing one of the many pairs of cufflinks.

Eric thought of his own cufflinks. They really did look good. Wondering how much they had cost his employer, he felt the tiniest pang of guilt as he remembered the method of payment for the gasoline earlier.

Feeling a little sting on his cheek as he continued to look at Mr. Rittevon, he winced. It sure had hurt. But, he’d be upset, too, if he’d lost his entire fortune. Eric really couldn’t blame his employer for being angry, could he?

Getting up from the chair, he walked over to the couch, and kneeled in front of Mr. Rittevon. Could such a monster really have a face like that? Peaceful, almost like a doll, without the twitches of the nap he had seen earlier. Abstract thoughts ceased to exist in Eric’s mind as he studied the sleeping man in front of him. Calm, entrancing, consuming…

The plane shook suddenly, and Mr. Rittevon’s eyes opened, pupils contracting to tiny points in the magnificently illuminated blue irises. Eric’s breath caught in his throat, and he fell back, sitting on the floor, cheeks reddening.

With no visible reaction or emotion, Mr. Rittevon held his gaze even as he stood up, before turning to walk away towards the cockpit.

Eric stood to his feet, unsettled. He sat back down at the chair next to the window, taking a sip of the ice water held in an elegant glass, looking fragile yet sturdy at the same time. Smiling at his own dichotomy, he glanced out the window.

Huge dark grey thunderheads loomed in not too distant airspace, and an ominous feeling settled over him. It had been less than twelve hours since he was snatched away from the banal, but it felt like it had been weeks. His life had been flipped, turned upside down, torn away from mundanity.

He felt the engines surge as the plane accelerated. A door somewhere behind him closed, and he leaned over against the wall, staring out the window.

A hand touched his shoulder suddenly, and shook him awake. Mumbling something, he sat up. He hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but it must have been for quite a while. The plane had landed, and it was raining heavily outside.

“Herr Linner?� Eric turned, finally noticing the pilot standing next to him. “Are you ready to leave?�

It took a moment for Eric to realize that the other man was addressing him.

“I… uh… yes,� he replied, standing up slowly. With a little smile, the pilot gestured to the open door.

“Be careful on the staircase, it’s probably slippery.�

Eric mumbled his thanks and made his way to the door and carefully down the stairs, as rain pelted him from above.

He noticed a car about fifteen yards from him and ran towards it, slowly getting drenched. To his dismay, it was locked, and he looked over back towards the plane for some sort of explanation.


An umbrella opened over his employer and covered him as he stepped gracefully down the stairs, held by the pilot, who was already soaked.

On the tarmac, they exchanged words Eric did not hear, and the pilot handed Mr. Rittevon the umbrella. As Mr. Rittevon turned to go, the pilot grabbed him by the arm, and ran forward to block his path.

It was hard to see through the rain, but Eric could see the pilot gesticulating desperately, keeping a hold of Mr. Rittevon’s arm. Eric strained to hear what was going on, but the sound of the rain drowned everything else out.

Mr. Rittevon stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and his pilot, whose soaked uniform clung to him as he stopped moving. The light reflected off of Mr. Rittevon’s glasses for a second as he leaned forward, putting a hand on the pilot’s waist while he said something.

With that, he pushed the younger man out of his way, and continued his smooth walk across the tarmac. The pilot watched, apparently stricken, water dripping off the visor of his combination cap.

Mr. Rittevon walked up to Eric, umbrella in hand.

“I drive this time,� he said hollowly, and Eric scurried to the other side of the car as his employer unlocked the doors. Grateful to be out of the rain, Eric got in quickly, flicking his drenched blond hair out of his eyes.

“I hate the rain,� Mr. Rittevon snarled, putting the car in proper gear and setting out across the tarmac, windshield wipers at a fierce speed.

Eric remained silent, shivering slightly. His employer had put the air conditioner on, despite the fact that Eric was soaking wet.

With a trembling sigh, he leaned against the window, and a blurry motion caught his eye. A man was running perpendicular to them across the tarmac.

Eric recognized him as the young pilot who Mr. Rittevon had pushed aside. He stopped suddenly, looking up into the clouds as the rain pelted his face.

Eric strained to keep him in view as they drove away. He thought he saw the pilot collapse, holding his face in his hands, but then, perhaps they were too far away to tell. Putting the thought out of his mind, he sighed.

“Where are we going, sir?� he asked, but his employer remained silent.

Eric didn’t press the matter.

After several minutes of driving, Mr. Rittevon finally turned the air conditioner off. Eric was overcome with relief, he had seen his own breath condense a few times in the minutes past.

Folding his arms to conserve his warmth, he leaned his head back and tried to sleep.

After a few minutes, however, he finally gave up, and opened his eyes to see light snowflakes falling outside the car. He felt a wetness on his lip, and wiped it off with the back of his hand.

Blinking in surprise to see a viscous red liquid smeared across, he realized his nose was bleeding. He searched around for a napkin, but couldn’t find one. Mr. Rittevon handed him a handkerchief, and he took it gratefully.

“On the plane, sir, how long did I sleep for?� he asked, wiping the blood from his lips and nose.

“Four hours,� his employer replied simply, and Eric blinked, folding the handkerchief up and putting it into the cupholder. He turned to look behind him, to find that the rear window was obscured by a large pile of suitcases.

“Where are we, sir?� he asked, as he noticed the snowfall turn back to rain, disappointing him a little.

“Sweden,� Mr. Rittevon replied, coming to a stop in a circular driveway in front of a long walkway to a very large house. “Stay in the car.�

Eric had no time to respond before his employer got out of the car and shut the door. Eric watched him as he walked smoothly through the heavy rainfall towards the house.

He leaned his head over against the window, waiting for Mr. Rittevon to return.

A loud tone echoed through a large room, waking a middle-aged man who sat in a high-backed chair in front of a fireplace, a book in his hand. Dressed in a velvet blue and silver robe, he stood up, stretching a little.

Running his hands through his blond hair, he straightened his glasses and walked to the door.

‘Good heavens, who could be calling on such a dismal day?’ he wondered to himself, fuzzy slippers making light tapping noises on the stone as he walked.

When he reached the two large doors, he peeked through a small glass hole in the door, but could see no one. Despite his conscience’s advice, he opened the door anyway.

A light turned on, illuminating a dark-haired man dressed in an expensive pinstriped suit that was unfortunately drenched by the rain. A ruby pin glimmered just below the knot of his black silk tie.

“Hello, Erwin,� he said slowly, and the blond man thought his heart would stop. He slammed the door in the dark-haired man’s face, crossing himself several times and murmuring something in Latin.

Adrenaline rushing, he held himself up against the door, keeping it shut. The doorknob clicked and the door opened forcefully, throwing him forward onto his hands and knees.

He turned over, gaping in horror as the other man stepped over the threshold, face shrouded in shadow. Light reflected off the other man’s glasses as he stepped closer to the cowering blond man, who was whispering a prayer in Latin.

“Imaginary friends are for children, Herr Zurich,� the dark-haired man said hollowly, bending to grab the blond man by the arm, lifting him to his feet.

Erwin struggled to get out of his grip, but to no avail.

“Rittevon,� he whispered, almost incapable of speech. The dark haired man nodded gracefully, almost a bow.

“At your service,� he hissed. Heart pounding, Erwin stopped struggling, and Mr. Rittevon let him go.

“Why are you here?� he asked, voice wavering. His eyes flicked to the open door, and he had a brief thought of running for it. The other man seemed to have noticed, and stepped solidly in front of him. Erwin’s shoulders slumped a little, and he avoided Mr. Rittevon’s eyes.

“I have a favor to ask of you,� Mr. Rittevon admitted, looking as if the mere thought of it sickened him.

Shocked, Erwin looked up. “What?�

Mr. Rittevon turned away. “I… I lost my fortune. I need to stay with you, just-“

“No,� the other man interrupted, turning away, “Absolutely not. Get out of my house. Now.�

“Just until I’m back on my feet. Erwin… I have nothing. Please.�
The blond man turned back around, glancing at the stricken, desperate look on the other man’s face.

“What did you think I’d say, Rittevon? Did you think I’d welcome you back, with open arms?� he said, almost angrily.

“Erwin-“

“Don’t call me that!� he snapped, “You are not my friend, you cannot be familial with me. Do not think for a moment I am pleased by your presence! Who do you think you are, barging your way into my house, interrupting my nap, my life, my everything?!�

Erwin took a breath, adrenaline racing. He had Mr. Rittevon backed up against the door, glaring into his surprised blue eyes. Straightening up to his full 6’1�, Erwin was nearly as tall as his adversary, and only a few inches away from his face.

Mr. Rittevon tilted his head a little, looking down at his furious associate with a little smile. They stayed like that for a minute, facing each other down, until Erwin sighed, and turned away.

“You can stay for one week only, and I’ll expect some sort of payment for food and utilities,� he said, “Assuming, of course, that you eat and shower.�

Mr. Rittevon ignored the latter statement and stepped forward, putting a hand on Erwin’s shoulder, who turned away from the touch.

“Er.. well, thanks. I’ll get my luggage,� he said, turning to leave. Erwin watched Mr. Rittevon open the door and walk out, wondering if he would regret his decision later.