The Fixer & Darkmoor House
He’d had many names over the centuries, but he always thought of himself as The Fixer or The Problem Solver. He was the one that came along when you thought it was so dire it was do or die, always watching, always ready and he knew how to solve a problem.
His solutions were often………. Extreme. He thought that word befitted it best, or maybe, extreme circumstances called for extreme solutions?
His current presentation pleased him greatly, he twirled his cane before throwing it in the air and deftly catching it. A smile curling his lips upwards gave his face an expression of friendly benevolence.
The smile faded, his face hardened and lengthened, and his eyes grew cold and dark. The first problem to solve was also his own, but to solve it would mean fixing things for someone else, so, a win, win.
A nasty man with a sharp tongue and ready fists awaited him in the tall, imposing house at the end of Darkness Drive. A man who beat his wife and terrorised his children.
A man who’d stolen his mirror.
He’d seen it. Hanging in the large back room some would call a drawing room, but even without it being in his possession, it showed him what took place in the house.
It showed him pictures of now and images of the future. He knew that without his intervention the woman would die a horrible death at the hands of her violent husband.
He also knew that the children would bear witness. They would be destroyed beyond repair and after growing up in care they faced a future of criminality, homelessness and eventually early deaths. It was in his power to change this, to offer them a future they could build for themselves.
He glanced up at the tall, imposing house, situated at the very far end of Darkness Drive. It was bigger than most with a large, gated entrance that led to a gravel drive. Resting his head against the front door his acutely tuned ears could hear what was happening within the house. The desperate sobbing of small children made him narrow his eyes, he could see them huddled under the sheets in their room, clutching one another for comfort.
There were the sounds of muffled blows hitting soft flesh and the repressed cries of the person on the other end of it. His lips pursed in disgust as he heard the foul things that the man was saying as he beat her.
Pulling away from door he took a moment to make sure his face was settled into a neutral expression before raising his cane and rapping firmly on the wooden surface.
He heard the footsteps as they came closer, heavy, male footsteps, purposeful and annoyed at the interruption. He thought he could sense an underlying fear of being caught out, this was overlaid by curiosity as to who was banging his door this late at night.
The door swung open, the soft light from the hall illuminating a short, stocky man with a square head that looked slightly too large for his body, his face was flushed and occasionally his eyes darted back into the house.
He’d already settled on his game plan, playing to man’s greed and his need to feel stronger and better than anyone else.
“Hello Mr Gregson, I believe you have a mirror for sale, I would be most interested in purchasing it from you if the price is right.”
He leaned on his cane and crumpled his face, appearing innocent, vulnerable and open to exploitation. The man narrowed his eyes taking it all in and coming to the conclusion that he was supposed to.
Rubbing his hands together he stood back and pulled the front door wider.
“You’d better come in and see the goods then” he said as the elderly man slowly, painfully, shuffled into the house.
