A Helping Hand

The hut that housed the staircase had clearly been there for many years, heavy rust had emerged through the remnants of flaking white paint, and the stiff metal door opened uneasily. Gable descended down the old metal stairs of the empty hut, musing on his brief encounter with Râmiėl.

Five days, Gable thought to himself, five long days since coming back…starting again. The encounter had left him with more questions and the calm he had felt from the song had all but left him. I just want answers, I just want to know why… Gable reached the bottom of the staircase and entered the top floor of the hotel.

Gable had been walking the city for five days since his rebirth, Râmiėl had bought him back, that much he could remember. However the memories from before were hazy, it was as if he had been suffering from some type of amnesia. He had hoped that the chance meeting with his mentor on the rooftop would give him some answers. I just want to know why…He thought.

The numbered doors to the rooms look identical to him, as he walks along the bland corridor of the hotel, a door sign reading ‘Bathroom’ seems the only exception to the other identical doors. He enters, in hopes of washing some clarity into his tired face.

Water cascades gently into his pale angular hands, he feels the rub of his long bony fingers against his skin, and the water soaks his face. He scoops more water from the basin, patting it around the entirety of his face. Feeling cooled and refreshed he stares into the small mirror above the basin. Looking back at him is a pale face, long and thin, wavy dark hair falls unkempt around the features, a defined nose, a narrow mouth, a pair of cold grey eyes stare blankly back at him. I recognise the face, this reflection, it must be mine…from before. These thoughts fill him with some reassurance.

Why did he leave the overcoat… Gable thought suddenly as he breaks his stare with the reflection in the mirror. There was nothing in his hands, why didn’t he take it with him…? In a moment Gable receives his first solid answer of the night, Râmiėl wanted me to have it. He whips open the door and paces back to the staircase eagerly.

The dark coat rested ruffled near the edge of the rooftop, Gable picks it up, inspecting it. Why did he want me to have this coat, he thought. Reaching into the pockets, he finds only a single scrap of paper; he removes it and sees it contains writing. Staring at the text he begins to decipher the message, it reads:

Gable

Your work begins tonight. Her name is Lillian Cane. She has been assigned to you. You are her Guardian. You must watch over her. Visit the Muse. It will tell you where to find her.
Râmiėl

Perhaps our meeting was not per chance, Gable thought as he stuffed the scrap of paper into the pocket of his Jeans. Râmiėl must have wanted to speak with me, as much as I with him. He carries the overcoat under his arm, as he begins walking back to the staircase. Fate…A peculiar concept…there is always work to be done. His thought fades, as he feels cold droplets gently land on his face. The misty whiteness falls calmly from the sky, bringing colour to the sombre rooftop, and Gable smiles. The snow seems symbolic of something: perhaps finding oneself, perhaps change, perhaps answers. A resurrection in snow, he thought to himself as he opens the door to the staircase.

…

Gable found himself outside the hotel in the midst of snowfall. I must visit the Muse then… He knew where he would find it, and he begins walking down the quiet city street. The snow crunches under his shoes as he walks; the street lights glisten dimly through the haze as he moves through the darkened city. Turning a corner, a voice breaks his stride.

“‘Cuse me Mac, could ya spare some change?” A gruff voice slurred out.

“Sorry, I have none…” replied Gable, looking at the dishevelled old man.

“I ain’t gonna spend it on drink Mac, promise I ain’t”, the old man coughed roughly.

“I only have this coat, it is a cold night, you look like you could use it”, Gable passes Râmiėl’s overcoat to the old man, who accepts it with a look of confusion.

“Cheers Mac, you mus’ of known it was gonna snow tonight”, says the old man as he hobbles off coughing.

It’s what Râmiėl would have wanted, he was the angel of hope after all. Gable thought, as he watches the old man disappear into an alley. Maybe I can help them after all… Gable carries on walking; he knows that shortly he would be visiting the Muse.

…
Marc B