The first thing that James noticed was the silence.
He turned a complete circle to take in the entrance hall, the crystal chandeliers, the ivory walls, the floors, his new oxfords joining the chorus of footsteps from the other occupants of the limo. But that was the problem. It was a chorus without accompaniment. There were no orders from servants being thrown about, no scuffling of furniture being moved about, no clashing of silverware, no running feet.
It was the air was dead.
There was only the clacking of their own feet upon the golden marble as they climbed the steps to the second floor. Like a metronome, their feet resounded against the marble floors, accompanied only by their bated breath.
James felt as if he had entered a manor inhabited by phantoms. It was chilling to the bone, overshadowing the pleasant realization that a ball was being thrown in their honor, as well as the opportunity to wear a dinner jacket and drink expensive alcohol—an opportunity James would have normally embraced.
James stopped in front of the door labeled with a one, and looked around. The girl he had met in the limo ride, Erika, was in the room next to him followed by the good doctor, then the waitress, and then by his awkward blonde countryman. Even though they were situated near one another, James felt like he was alone, separated by a sea of silence.
Get over yourself! James scolded silently. His paranoia was getting the better of him now. A life time of action movies and thrillers gave him the suspicion of a mobster waiting for the coppers to crack down his door. There couldn’t be anything wrong with this place!
He inserted the key to his room and turned the knob.
The door swung open and James changed his mind.
There was something very wrong with this place.
“Jesus Christ,” James whispered to himself as he stood in the doorway staring into the room with disbelief. It was his dream room. Everything he ever wanted, all of his favorite things, all in one place. The room had an expensive, yet tasteful, appearance: a crystal chandelier was hung from the ceiling illuminating the entire room with a vibrant golden glow, the walls were painted in a lively crimson red—his favorite colour—and the floor was covered in black marble tiles with velvet red rugs lounging about. A king sized bed hewn from cherry wood was set on the far side of the wall, lavished with various sheets, blankets, and pillows of red, black, and white. Set on top of the bedspread was a basket full of tea cakes along with a pamphlet and card that exlclaimed, "Welcome James H. Welch!"
Adorning the walls in trios were posters to all of James’s favorite films: James Bond, Mission Impossible, Godfather, The Bourne Trilogy all framed in expensive ebony frames.
It was like something out of a Hollywood Director’s mansion.
James took a step forward. Then another. He shut the door behind him and took a closer look around. Around the room, set on various coffee tables and counters were various historical artifacts. James took a Napoleon era Calvary Sabre off a display rack and slid it out of its scabbard.
Blunt, James thought, disappointed. Well of course they blunted the blade! It would be quite impractical to give guests lethal weapons to poke their eyes out with.
Dominating one end of the wall was a small bookshelf dedicated to all of James’s favorite books. Mostly espionage novels, but there were also quite a few classic books: Count of Monte Cristo, The Prince, The Lord of the Rings, Sherlock Holmes, and too many titles to list. Set next to the book shelf was a reading chair of brown leather and coffee table set with candles. The candles had already been lit, and the warm fire seemed to invite James to sit down. Walking into the bathroom the floor was paved in golden marble tiles and the whole room was well furnished. A bathtub cut from the same golden marble rose from the corner. A little side table was set nearby in case one wanted to drink wine and read a book whilst taking a bath. A wine glass and bottle of 2006 Cabernet Sauvignon was already set out for him.
His room was bloody perfect. And that was what worried James.
His paranoia had reached a crescendo as he made his rounds around his room. How the hell did these people know his tastes, his interests, his bloody favorite colour?
James seated himself in the reading chair and closed his eyes in thought. There just was something off about this place. The owners were as James expected from rich aristocrats: charming, suave, and generally unreadable. But it was truly troubling how much they knew about them. First the passports with their pictures on it, now a room personally styled to their tastes! Then there was that one encounter with the man in the loo. He wondered what he would be doing with the item the stranger gave him.
James massaged his temple. There wasn’t anything to be done in this situation except play along for now and get dressed for the ball. James would have to find out more information somehow, and he would have to watch his back while doing so. Oh how he wished he had a gun! A stainless steel Walther PPQ by his side would do wonders for his confidence!
James found his luggage near the entrance, but he left it unpacked. He didn’t know if he would have to leave in a hurry or not, and if he did, he would prefer to have his bags already packed. He retrieved his dinner jacket and set it upon the bed. Then he stripped down and stepped into the shower. He turned the water on but didn’t bother turning on the hot water. James liked his showers cold. He shivered as the freezing water ran down his naked back. James stood there, beneath the shower head, holding his arms close to his chest as water dripped from his bare body like an early winter shower. He waited until his body was numb from the water before reaching for the shampoo and body wash.
James stepped into the view of the mirror, a changed man.
He wore a pitch black dinner jacket, Tom Ford, with peaked lapels. A smooth faced shirt with a pointed collar was worn underneath with cuffs fastened together by slender cuffs of palladium. Black pants were worn, held up by white braces, visible when James took off his jacket as he had opted out of a waistcoat and cummerbund. A black silk bowtie was fastened around his collar and a deep wine red pocket square poked out of his breast pocket. Worn on his feet were his polished oxfords.
James felt confident and if he did say so himself, quite handsome. He flashed a few poses in front of the mirror, miming the action of drawing a gun from a shoulder holster before he felt silly and composed himself again.
Right then, back to business, James thought as he straightened himself.
Before going out, he set miniature burglar alarms around the room. In each drawer he would place several locks of his hair so that if the drawer opened, the hairs would fall out. He did the same with his luggage, and place a small layering of talcum powder by the window sill. If someone came in through the window, the powder would have been disturbed and James would know about it.
Good god, he was paranoid.
James gathered his thing and strode purposefully through the door, shutting it silently behind him. The floor below him was abuzz with activity now. Voices, laughs, and the clinking of glass ware could be heard in the entrance hall. The ball had started.
James took a deep breath and descended the stairs.