INDENTURED SOLITUDE (An original short story - Part 4 of 4)

“Well, umm, Mr. Jacobs you see...I think I’ve changed my mind,” Ernie pleaded as his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Come now, Mr. Solomon, relax. Shall I remind you that I made our friend Mr. Cincotti a promise? In our world our word is all we have and we live and die by it,” he said, staring at Ernest intensely with his piercing blue eyes.

“First, we ask that you turn in your mobile phone and empty your pockets of all personal belongings and place them into this plastic tub.”

Ernie tried to find comfort in Harry’s words as they kept echoing through his head, Let me tell you two things I’ve learned, Number One, in this world the hero and villain can possess the same kind of greatness, and Number Two, everything in this life, good or bad, comes with a price.

He didn’t have the life experience it took to understand what Harry meant until this very moment.

Back in Manhattan Harry was probably already two whiskeys into the night, getting his ego stroked by an attractive waitress in some swanky Manhattan restaurant. This plan was easy for Harry because he wasn't the one standing in this dank basement, alone with a powerful British crime boss who happened to be Ernest’s biggest fan.

Ernie tried his best to swallow but his throat was far too parched. He began to accept his fate as he started to empty the contents of his pockets into the clear plastic tub.

“The terms of our agreement are as follows,” Mr. Jacobs said as he walked a few feet towards a gray steel door, rapping it two times with this knuckles as it rang like a bell.

“This is your new home. You will be housed in this secured room, exactly four by 5 meters in diameter including one writer’s desk with a chair, a bed, we’ve even installed a lavatory, and a shower. You will reside here in this space until such a time as a draft of your new novel, deemed worthy of publication by Mr. Cincotti, is produced.”

Mr. Jacobs’ face took on a more serious expression and he started pacing back and forth again as he continued, “You will be issued a laptop computer and access to reading material of your choosing. A chef will be at your disposal from 6am to 9pm to prepare anything you desire. There will be no internet access, radio, or television to distract you. There is an intercom system in the chamber to communicate to my staff but you shall have absolutely no contact with the outside world save for one call per week to a single party of your choosing. These calls will be monitored closely and I promise you that there will be a severe penalty if there is an attempt to breach any of these terms. A press release has been prepared by our staff informing the public that you are taking a hiatus from public life for an undetermined amount of time until your task is complete.”

Smith gave the wheel on massive steel vault door a few violent spins. Ernie twitched as the lock echoed like a gunshot as it disengaged. Mr. Jacobs swung open the thick door to reveal a what Ernie feared, it was indeed the inside of an old vault. At one time it probably held a Victorian family’s precious silver or art collection but now it would hold his life and what remained of his hope.

“Smith, show Mr. Solomon into the chamber, please.”

“Of course, it will be my pleasure Sir,” Smith quickly complied, he rested his enormous hand in the middle of Ernie’s back and thrusted him six feet into the middle of the room as he fell onto the floor.

“Hey!” Ernie screamed as picked himself up and spun around just in time to see the steel door slam shut behind him and the deafening CLUNK of the lock engaging.

This last outburst felt like the final whimper of a baby before surrendering to sleep. After a few seconds Ernie’s tightly clenched jaw relaxed and his shoulders slumped forward. Everything was instantly quiet and still, as if he was in a vacuum. Instead of feeling confined by the tight space he felt his imagination expanding, this gave him a tiny bit of hope.

In a moment of desperation Ernest had agreed to pay a price far greater than money for what he desired. He willingly agreed to pay with his freedom and his time but now that he understood his predicament with a clearer head, he realized it was possible that he might even pay with his life.

Ernest slid the simple wooden chair away from the desk and sat down. As he opened the laptop and rested his hands lightly on its keys he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Ernie realized that for all of Harry’s wisdom there was one thing a person like him could never begin to understand, that was how complex a thing an author’s creativity could be.

Only the creative can fully grasp this. Muse is magic, like a beautiful monarch butterfly that decides to land on you when you’re standing all alone in a garden, perfectly still. Muse could never be forced or even willed.

Ernie closed his eyes tightly, placed his hands together tightly at his chest, and prayed. He prayed that this locked vault, in the basement of this Victorian row house in London might possess the kind of perfect stillness that would welcome into his imagination the fickle whispers of Fitzgerald's ghost.

Did you miss Parts 1, 2, or 3 of this story? If so please click these links to read them:

Part 1

https://steemit.com/story/@ericvancewalton/indentured-solitude-a-short-story-in-4-parts

Part 2

https://steemit.com/story/@ericvancewalton/indentured-solitude-an-original-short-story-in-4-parts

Part 3

https://steemit.com/story/@ericvancewalton/indentured-solitude-an-original-short-story-part-3-of-4

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