The melodious tune of the piano serenaded the bright round room. Beams of yellow light phased in through the cupola above, the shadow of the walls leaning against the golden marble.

In the middle of the room was a man playing the piano. His fingers ran above the keys with precision, his back facing Robert.

Who could that be? Robert advanced slowly to the man and when he was close, he rounded him so he could see his face.

"Howard." Robert gasped.

Howard was outfitted in a long white dress, his left chest sodden with a red liquid. That was the place he was being shot. What was the meaning of this? Robert took a step back in dread.

"Why did you call the police, My Lord?" Howard's eyes were covered with ink and they ran down his eyes. "Why did you call the police?"

The bright sky became shrouded by dark clouds, the room getting dark. Howard got up from the seat slowly, his head hunched low, his neck cracking up. It was inhumanly possible for someone to have such a posture.

"Why did you call the police, My Lord?" Howard asked, his voice echoing through the now cold room.

"Howard, H—" Robert's throat was constricted so tightly that he couldn't talk. He ran his fingers over his neck but it felt numb.

"Why did you call the police, Robert?" A voice said against his back and he spun to see Ella bonded with a rope and her mouth tied with a white cloth. This was how she was being coupled that day. What was happening?

"Ella, what are doing here?" Robert asked, moving away. This had to be a dream, it wasn't real. Ella was taken captive by Gerrard and Howard was dead.

"Why did you call the police, Robert?" Ella and Howard asked in unison, advancing to Robert together.

Red eyes appeared behind them and soon it was spreading throughout the dimly lit room. Out of the shadows emerged Bobbies in blue, their truncheons in their hands.

"Why did you call us, Robert?" They asked, closing in. Robert backed up and soon he felt his sole rub against an edge. He looked down and there was dark nothingness.

"Why did you call the police?"

"Why did you call us?"

"Why did you call the police?"

Robert tipped over the edge and fell, screaming.

He shot out of bed, beads of sweat peppered over his body. Jesus Christ.

He had another one of those dreams. It had been going on like this for over a week now. He ran his hands through his hair and looked around him. A bunch of women were plopped naked all over the room, some in the bed with him.

"Are you okay?" One asked, rubbing her hands over the mat of hair on his chest.

"Don't touch me," he said, swatting her hands away from him. He was disgusted with her and himself. What would Ella think of me? Since she had been taken away and Howard died, he found himself losing his sanity. This was one of the few ways he could deal with his lostness.

He came out of bed, his buttocks rippling as he took each step toward his wardrobe. Taking out a robe, he covered himself with it and stepped out of the bedroom. There had been no news of Ella's whereabouts and the other day, his ship was found. There had been a blood bath on the vessel with every one of the Captain's soldiers dead. Gerrard had truly done his worst.

Robert could already feel the empty hole Howard had left in his life. The other day he went to his office and was met with a heap of documents that needed extensive sorting. If Howard was there, he wouldn't have to deal with that mountain of work.

He entered his courtyard and walked over to his recliner. The walls were covered with stone, the cobbled floor sided by beautiful thickets that grew rose flowers. A purple petaled flower with thorned stems ran along the walls like snakes and occasionally intertwined with each other.

The morning sun hit against his eyes and all he could see was Ella's beautiful face in the blue sky. He sure as hell hoped Gerrard wasn't doing anything stupid to her. Her mother tossed all her glass cups at him when he broke the news to her days ago. He understood everything that happened where inevitably his fault.

He reached out from his robe and brought out a metal casing. He opened it and a brown cigar was laid inside. Lighting it up, he laid on the recliner and puffed in some tobacco. The nicotine did its work after a few seconds, his problems disappearing for a split second and returning.

Four days ago he heard this was a good way to deal with one's pains. He tried it out and it worked; only for a few seconds. But it was worth something. He relaxed in his recliner, the plumes of smoke filling his view. Here he was relaxing in a chair while Ella was out there in the hands of his worst enemy.

Every day that passed by, he cursed himself for making that decision that led to this moment. All he had to do was not to think of what he wanted for once. All he had to do was think about his friend's life instead of some bloody urge to please his father. All he had to do, was to be a good friend.

Howard was dead.

Ella was a captive.

How many more lives was he going to ruin because he wanted to desperately make the moon lamp? He took in some burnt tobacco again and released it into the air.

Howard's wife even spat on his face when he brought her dead husband to her house. He deserved more than a spit. He deserved to be hung. He didn't deserve anything good in life. He didn't deserve to be loved by his father. He wasn't good enough all along. If he was, how did he end up being beaten so badly by Gerrard?

The question in his dream, "Why did you call the police?" had an evident answer. Robert was afraid of never being loved by his father so he decided to safeguard a chance to complete the moon lamp. A wrong decision he should've seen from afar.

"My Lord, you have a letter," Mr Griffith said, entering the courtyard. Concern for Robert was inscribed in his eyes but Robert didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve anything.

"I need some time to myself."

"It's from the Captain."

Robert's eyes sparked. Maybe they had found Ella. He sat up and gestured for the letter. Once he got it, he wasted no time tearing it open.

Your Lordship,

I hope you're not being too hard on yourself. I too can't sleep since Ella was taken. I spoke with the police today and still, there has been no sign of Gerrard or Ella. I would still keep them on their toes till they find something.

As you know, Helen and Arthur are now aware I'm their father and they feel horrible about Howard's death and have asked me to send their condolences. Though they're still taking their time to digest the fact that I'm their father. Helen's mother and Arthur's father have both agreed that I could come to see my children whenever I want. So I wouldn't be suing for custody.

Now to the main reason I wrote this letter. Howard's burial is tomorrow. I wanted to make sure you didn't forget it. We would be expecting to see you there.

Yours truly,

Captain Asher Newman.

*****

Water dripped from the ceiling, forming a puddle in the hole in the concrete below. A tiny slant of morning light passed through the tiny window high on the lofty walls. The floor was cold and Ella had to curl herself up not to freeze to death.

Ahead of her were metal bars and in front of that was a grey cobbled wall. She had been in this cell for over four—no, six days. She had been so tired and lost in this enclosed space that she lost track of time.

Howard was dead. It was a thought that bedevilled her mind for more than she could keep count of. Howard died for her to live. If only she listened to Robert and stayed back at home. She was sure Howard would've been able to protect himself without trying to protect her.

This was a mistake that would haunt her till she died. Howard was Robert's best friend. She wondered how he would be coping now. Coupled with the fact that she was locked in here. And her mother —her sweet mother would be worried sick. Why did she have to worsen things?

She should have stayed home.

And Howard would be alive now.

Gerrard would be captured.

And everything would be fine.

But her pettiness spoiled their chances. Will Robert ever be able to forgive her? Surely he was blaming her for the death of his friend. He had to die for her to live. And what had she done with the chance he gave her to live? Nothing. She was still locked in a cell and hadn't seen her captor since the day she was brought in here.

She was fed once a day. A meal which consisted of stake bread and water that had a salty taste. Almost like it was drawn from the sea.

The clinking of keys made her get up from the chilling Ground. The metallic bonds around her hands were getting them sore and she reeked. It was her time of the month and she truly needed a bath to clean herself up.

A henchman in black opened the door and Gerrard appeared from the corner. He entered the cell, his hands behind his back.

"How do you like your new home."

Ella spat on his face. "You bastard. You killed Howard."

"What is it with everyone calling me a bastard?" He wiped off the saliva with a handkerchief. "I know my father was a friggin arsehole to me, you don't have to rub it in my face."

What was this lunatic talking about? Ella looked at him like he had a party of monkeys dancing above his bloody head.

"How can you be so heartless to kill people in cold blood?"

"Before I answer that question, can I just talk about how much you reek?" He scrunched up his nose. "I can't believe Robert fucked such an unhygienic breed."

Ella's jaw collapsed and all she wanted to do at that moment was to plaster her hand on his face. Unfortunately, the chains binding her to the wall won't let her. He killed Howard, Captured her and still had the bellies to talk to her in such a manner. Gerrard Finley was the most despicable person to ever walk this earth.

"Ah, so he did fuck you." Gerrard laughed dryly. "Sensational." He continued, "To answer that question you asked, I would have to tell you a story. But as it turns out, I need Robert here to tell you that tale. Which is why I would use you to lure him here."

"Robert would not fall for whatever plans you have."

Gerrard scoffed. "I have been playing chess with Robert and he has been losing. Don't be sure of your lover."

"You'll not win this fight, Gerrard."

"We shall see, love. I've played my knight. It's Robert's move."

******

Dearest Grace,

I write to you to let you know that I am safe and sound. I haven't had the chance to sense you this letter since a shocking revelation has been made to me. Captain Asher Newman of the British Army is my father. It also turns out I have two other sisters. The other one works as a maid for Gerrard Finley which the Captain has asked her to stop. And the other one is the girl who was being abducted by Gerrard.

Mr Lithstone's death is all on our minds and I hope you're not being hard on yourself. He was your brother's best friend and died trying to save me and my sister. I owe him a debt that I don't know how to be repaid. Tomorrow is his burial and I'll be there, I hope to see you too.

Also, I'll be unable to race in the London derby because of a broken leg I got from being abducted. It hurts badly Grace. If only you were here, I am sure I would be feeling better already.

I do hope you won't worry about me again. I'm safe. I will write more to you, my love.

Yours truly,

Arthur.

Signing, Grace hid the letter inside a small pocket in her green gown. She had already known that Arthur and his sister, Helen were alright. Robert had told her. She still appreciated that he wrote to her. She had been longing to see him.

Howard was dead and Miss Featherington was being taken captive. And from what Grace could tell, they were both his favourite people. She had overheard when her parents were talking about how he danced with her twice. Robert never danced twice with any lady. So Ella had to have a special place in his heart.

She held the railings of her balcony's balustrade and overlooked the greenery of their estate's plains. Guilt pricked her conscience. Howard was dead because of her. If only she didn't ask her brother to save Arthur, his friend would still be alive now.

She didn't know if her brother would ever be able to forgive her.

Tomorrow would tell.

******