Chapter 2 CHAPTER TWO

The week passed on with its regular round of humiliation and unseen work. Theo cooked and cleaned and endured the casual cruelty of the family with a silence which had been developed into a kind of armour.

Theo managed to make it out of the mansion on Wednesday afternoon, and meet his old colleague David in a small coffee shop across town, where he was out of range from any socialite of the Whitmore family.

David had already arrived, and was sitting at a corner table, holding two cups of coffee. When he saw Theo he rose and embraced him in a quick embrace.

“Man, you do look terrible” said David, with his friendly face set in an expression of concern.

Theo sat and put his hands round the warm cup. "Thanks. Always good to hear."

"I'm serious. When is the last time you got a decent sleep? Eat a real meal other than leftovers?”

"I sleep fine," Theo lied. The truth was he barely slept at all anymore, but lying awake in that cold room on the third floor, feeling the mansion sink into him.

David gazed a long time at him. “You cannot afford to live like that. It's been three years, Marcus. Three years of them treating you like garbage.”

"What choice do I have?" Theo asked quietly. "No publication will hire me. Hartford made sure of that. I have no money, no prospects. The Whitmores provide me with a roof above my head.”

"A roof in the servants' quarters," David pointed out. "Come on, man. You're better than this. The Theo Callahan I knew would not simply take this thing like that.”

Theo looked at his coffee and could see that his image was distorted in the liquid. David was right. This would not have been approved by the old Theo. But the old Theo had believed in justice, in truth making its way, in the system functioning. The system then killed him for revealing the truth.

“I am just tired, David” said Theo. “Worn out of fighting battles I cannot win.”

David stood up, and his voice was high. "Listen to me. I have been doing some investigation work in the form of freelance. It pays well. I might need your service. You were the finest investigative reporter I ever had to work with.”

“I am blacklisted," Theo said to him.

“Not investigation but journalism. The case is different in private investigation. We would be working with clients and not publications. And the scope of Hartford does not go there.” David replied him.

Theo experienced a trace of what he had not experienced in very long time. Hope, maybe. Or simply the thought of what hope was like.

"Think about it," David urged. “The thing is, you must leave that house. It's killing you Theo. Not physically, but here." He tapped his chest. "Where it counts."

Theo nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."

Another hour was spent and David informed him about their mutual friends during their journalism years. Nobody did anything to save Theo when he was destroyed by Hartford. David was the only one who had not betrayed and stood by him.

David caught hold of Theo when he was about to walk away. "One more thing. Be careful at that mansion. The Whitmores, they are not only rich. They're connected. I've heard things."

"What kind of things?" Theo asked.

David hesitated. "Just rumors. There were old stories as to how Graham Whitmore came to achieve the original fortune of the family. Nothing tangible, but to cause me to wonder. Just watch yourself."

Theo came back to the mansion right at sunset, when the Victorian house was standing out on the dark sky as a shadow of a Gothic novel.

He got into the side door, wishing that he would go to his room without being noticed.

“There you are," Catherine cut through the corridor. She was standing on the head of the staircase with crossed arms. "Where have you been? I needed you to run errands."

“I told Elena that I will be out this afternoon.” He replied.

“Elena does not have charge of this household. I do. And I also expect you being present when necessary.” Catherine's eyes were cold. “Friday night we are having dinner guests. Victor had important business associates. You'll serve."

“Alright.” Theo replied, which made his voice neutral.

“And dress something presentable. Not your ordinary rags, not those. I will not make our guests to believe that we do not have money to hire decent help.”

She walked away leaving Theo in the corridor. A house help. That's all he was to them.

Theo was lying in his little bed staring at the ceiling that night, thinking of what David had said. “You have to leave that house.”

But it wasn't that simple. Theo had nothing. No cash, no car, no other place. His parents were gone. His uncle Michael had vanished long back, allegedly went to Singapore and lost touch.

Theo had no one but David and he could not put his friend through the burden of being homeless.

The voices in the hallway broke his cogitations. Victor and Richard, low agitated voices.

Theo felt his instincts of a journalist. He walked to his door opening it slowly and little.

“Can’t go on with it.” Richard was saying. “We must get this done before somebody begins to ask questions.”

“Shut your voice.” said Victor. "The walls have ears."

"You mean Theo? Please. That no one is so occupied cleaning toilets that he cares about our business.” Richard said swinging his right hand in a discarding manner.

"Don't underestimate him. He was a good journalist, a good one, prior to being brought to his knees by Hartford.” Victor replied him silently.

"Exactly that was before. He is now nothing more than a pet project of Elena. Pending what time she will dispose him.” Richard said.

"Soon enough. Meanwhile we are quietly attending to the Bradley affair. No additional payments past this month. It's been forty years. The old man can no longer harm us.” Victor still talking silently

Their footsteps faded down the hallway, and Theo was left in darkness with a lot of questions and answers.

“Bradley situation? Forty years? Payments?” Theo's mind raced. This is what, some mystery the Whitmores had to conceal. This was the cry of his instincts.

He took out his phone and wrote a note: Bradley - payments - 40 years - Victor would like to quit.

It might be nothing. It might be everything.

For the first time in three years, Theo felt that old familiar pull of a story waiting to be uncovered.