New chapters of the new life

The return was long and tedious. Through fog and dusty roads, across an ocean that retained all its eternal sorrow, Adelard finally arrived home. He opened his eyes and a seagull flew past him. The bird flew by as if it wanted to hit him with its wing. But he was able to bend his head and the bird just threw its strange look and flew away.

The dampness was everywhere. It was impossible to hide from it. Adelard saw for the first time what this little town was really like. He saw that there was probably nothing beautiful here. Old houses with broken windows, empty bottles and scattered love letters adorned the streets with a light fog walking through them. The sky was gray. The color of it was just like a knife blade. And if it rained, the drops would just cut against that knife, making thunder replace wailing. Lonely horses were walking in an unclear direction, and somewhere far away was a man with a very tired face. He was wearing a torn hat, which was just his habit. Good times become a habit. But what can be habitual in such a flow of time when even the wind is talking about nothing? But what should the wind be talking about? It is, after all, only the romantic nature of man requires some words that can only be heard with a happy heart. And here was another hum that was part of the ship. That hum woke Adelard from his thoughts. Clutching his suitcase in his hand, he looked around leisurely and stopped his gaze on a stranger. He thought it was Nicholas. But no, it was another man. Another tired man who was looking at the departing ship with tears in his eyes. Without thinking about where Nicholas was, Adelard looked around once more, hoping to see his carriage. But there was nothing around. This town had become a very different place. With slow steps he headed toward the most beautiful part of the town. Still thinking about what had happened across the ocean, he simultaneously remembered Suzanne. Still, he blamed himself for her death. He blamed himself for never giving her the attention she deserved. For never accepting her invitation and, in general, for not forcing her to stay here with him.

When he began to blame himself, his broken but now healthy leg began to hurt again. The pain was silent, but it nevertheless took a few seconds out of his life. All those months in New York seemed like a dream. All the pain of those months seemed like an illusion. And Adelard only remembered the white walls, the pain, and the nausea that came with every movement. But the pain didn't go away and the kind nurses and doctors couldn't help him. He was healthy. Yes, perfectly healthy, but still, something was keeping him from breathing calmly. No one knew what caused the constant dizziness and nausea. No one understood his condition. After all, he was perfectly healthy and young. The only explanation was that he had broken his leg. And now, forcing himself to remember this pain in his leg, Adelard slowed his step. He did not want to appear before his wife with sadness, sorrow in his heart. After all, he had not seen her for so long.

All those letters she had written had done nothing. And her voice across the ocean didn't help him find his wings either. He missed home. He missed everyone. And only now realizing this, he walked on with a slight smile on his face. Home, what a nice word. This word can be synonymous to the word happiness. Especially if that home is among the tall trees, along with the sounds of the sea and green fields. Who is a person without a home? Who is a person without these walls? And is there a person if he does not have these walls that shelter him from the rest of the world? But Adelard had no interest in all these questions. He was simply happy to see his home, his fortress, where he had grown up and learned something that could make an adult out of him. Feeling joy and imagining the faces of all those he cared about in front of him, he quickly headed toward the door.

Disappointment hit his senses right when he wanted to open the door. But it was closed. Smiling nervously, Adelard looked up at the windows, which were also closed. Knocking on the door, he shouted, "Nicholas!" But there was no answer. After several knocks on the door, Adelard began to panic. Throwing his suitcase on the ground, he stepped aside and began to look in every window, hoping to see someone. "Celeste!" he shouted, the moment a silhouette appeared in the window.

The moment the door slowly began to open, Adelard ran toward his wife with a smile on his face, but when his gaze fell on an unfamiliar woman dressed as a maid, he asked, "Who are you?"

To which the frightened woman just shrugged her shoulders.

"Where is Nicholas?" Adelard asked before he could continue the question, "I can go into my house, can't I?"

Now, the strange woman threw him a harsh look full of judgment. In the blink of an eye, her frightened look turned brave. Continuing to hold the door, she said, "Mistress Celeste told you to go to the factory. You should go there."

"Celeste is at the factory?"

"Excuse me," the woman said rudely and closed the door. Adelard caught the doorknob and pulled it toward him. Now, all he felt was anger.

Not understanding this kind of joke, he shouted, "Open the door! What's going on here?" The silence and indifference of the place made him laugh nervously. "Is this a joke? Nicholas, is this your idea? Well, you did it! Now open the door! I'm very tired!" Going to the door once more, he began to pull it by the doorknob. But it was true. The door was in fact closed. But in the meantime, the dark gray clouds thickened and lightning reached its hand toward a tree that was not too far from the house. The fire erupted violently and many birds flew upward like ashes. The bright red quickly merged with the green of the former foliage. Closing his face, Adelard felt a pain in his heart. He was all alone in this place. And now, the lone tree was burning, drawing patterns across the sky. Frightened by what he saw, he decided not to stand here. Taking that woman's word for it, he decided to visit his factory. But as soon as he made that decision, heavy rain covered everything around him. Covering his head from the raindrops, Adelard ran toward the road. There was still no one around. Panic and fear drove him forward. Leaving footprints behind him, he walked despite gusts of wind. The empty fields held something sinister, something from which he could not escape.

Finally, when he found himself among other people, he stopped and heard a voice behind him, "Where are you going Monsieur?"

Fortunately the carriage was in time, for a little longer and Adelard would have caught the eye of people who had not a good opinion of him. Shivering with cold, Adelard closed his eyes and convinced himself that it was only a joke. His imagination, though, was showing something very terrifying. Namely, the dead body of Celeste and everyone else. In such moments of fear, time turns against a man. Slowly, painfully, it stretches out events, emotions, and throwing a man into an abyss from which there is no escape. The fear stretched along the arrow of time and made Adelard's heart beat very slowly. Until the carriage came to a halt. Now, his heart calmed at the sight of the walls of his factory.

"Thank you and have a good day," Adelard said to the coachman and handed him his last money, which was in his pocket.

"And thank you, Monsieur. Good luck."

Good luck. The words sounded strange and they stuck in his mind for a long time. As he approached the factory where the different smells were coming from, Adelard clenched his hands in his fists and didn't notice himself as his nails dug into his palms. Fear enveloped him too much to notice some change in the place. But what could have changed in all this time?

With the rapid heartbeat that is characteristic of humans under pressure, Adelard still got close enough to the door, but someone's hand stopped him. It was a hand that was heavy and rough and knew no mercy. He could recognize it even through the thick layer of his coat. He tried to smile, but the hand began to squeeze his shoulder, forcing him to turn back. Hoping to see his friend, Adelard still smiled nervously, and when his gaze stopped on a tall, overly broad man in jeans and an old shirt, already yellow from time, he flinched slightly.

"Who are you?" he asked first.

A broad, too tall and too coarse man with no eyebrows and a big nose replied, "Monsieur, you are not allowed to come in here."

You are not allowed in here! Those words were louder than the thunder that was ready to break every roof.

"Excuse me, what?"