The Hoarder

Michael had never considered himself a man without feeling, and seeing Kendal as he tried to collect his emotions touched something inside him. There was no doubt in Michael's mind that he was out of his depth. His gut was tightening and he struggled as to what to do. He felt like he should get up and put a consoling hand on the old man's shoulder or something decent and human, at least.

Breathing in, he attempted to get up again, iPad under his arm and mug and saucer on the floor, and really hoped that he'd achieve it in one smooth motion. He didn't but his movement triggered something in Kendal to look up from his sorrow and say, "I'm alright, lad. You don't need to get up."

Michael blushed and said, "It's just, I wanted to, just..." and trailed off as he felt "offer some comfort" sounded a little patronising but Kendal was looking directly at him and he nodded at Michael with a small wry smile on his face, suffused with warmth directed towards the young man. Michael supposed he was a lad to Kendal. He was certainly feeling his inexperience today. What should have been a routine notice delivery and discussion was becoming a counselling session!

Kendal said, "I know. I know what you were going to do," and added, "You're one of the good ones, I can tell."

Michael felt a wave of guilt at this comment and cleared his throat. He really needed to get out of here.

Kendal was still looking at him and said, "I can sense your discomfort. You don't get to live as long as I do and not learn to trust your instincts," and Kendal moved his arm to punch where his heart was before saying," and what you feel here," and then he moved his hand to his upper abdomen and did the same before saying, "and here, in your gut."

The only real attention that Michael gave his gut was when it was grumbling for food and that was easily resolved with a sausage roll.

"Mr. McIntyre," Michael started to say but Kendal held up his hand as if to signal that Michael should stop or wait and Michael felt that it would be disrespectful to the old man to continue.

"Indulge me, Michael, will you? Five minutes is all it will take, if you will." Kendal raised his eyebrows expectantly waiting for Michael's answer and when he saw the resigned slumping of Michael further into the armchair, Kendal continued.

"Thank you, Michael. Thank you." Kendal paused and Michael wondered if he was ever going to start up again but the old man was just collecting his thoughts, wondering how he could share all that he knew with this young man to a) get his point across and b) to do it without letting his emotions get the better of him. Kendal noted that the older he got, the harder it was to maintain the emotional walls he'd constructed throughout his life. Now an old man, he suffered a lot of emotional leakage. Perhaps it's because he'd had to be so hard, so mentally strong as a young man that he'd been constantly plugging the leaks, not allowing tears to flow nor fear to manifest itself nor grief to take over. There was bound to be a day when it would all splurge out. You can only dam so much for so long before the pressure behind it becomes so strong that it bursts through. Kendal didn't think the dam was about to break just yet, but the chinks in its mortar were definitely widening. He wasn't ashamed of it though. Indeed, Kendal was grateful for his humanity and his ability to feel. He was proud of his compassion.

"Ah, Michael, now that I've garnered your full attention, it's difficult to know where to start, you know?"

Michael wondered if he could look at his watch but decided against it. Ah, what the heck, he thought. I may as well accept I'm not getting out of here any time soon and he settled a little further into the chair, feeling its grip all the more and trying not to focus on how he was eventually going to get out of it.

"What's your history, Michael?"

Michael was a little taken aback by another of Kendal's direct questions but once more, it was rhetorical as Kendal continued.

"Mine is, what I think you would say, checkered."

Michael raised his eyebrows but Kendal was quick to put him right.

"No, you've nothing to worry about. You're not in the den of a master criminal." Kendal let out a harsh laugh and then stopped. "But I have killed men."

Michael started a little and went to speak but Kendal cut him off.

"In the line of duty, you understand," and Michael expected him to expand but Kendal offered nothing further. Michael looked puzzled and then his brain, processing what he'd been told made a fantastical but not entirely erroneous leap to imagine Kendal as James Bond. He was certainly dapper enough and there was the air of the secret agent about him, especially in what he was saying to Michael. This man had definitely not been an accountant. Michael's eyes widened and he found himself leaning forward just a little, showing interest, as Kendal started again.

"And they all deserved it." Kendal looked directly at Michael and he registered Michael's shock and his curiosity, plainly written on his face. "I'm not proud of it but I've made peace with it a long time ago and have no regrets. It was a necessity as far as I saw it. They deserved to die. You see, they were men with designs."

"Designs?" Michael asked, thinking of microfilm and smuggled blueprints.

"Yes, and by that I mean, on power and the grasping of it for themselves. Not for the good of others. No. For themselves. And men with designs need to be stopped." And as an afterthought, "And women too if need be. Not as many of those though but ruthless and selfishly ambitious women do exist."

If it was possible for Michael's eyes to widen more, then they would have done. They were already like saucers. His thoughts had moved from James Bond now to imagining Kendal as some sort of hired assassin or government gun for hire. Michael was glad he himself was a nobody. Although, he thought, I am the man who is currently threatening this old man so maybe I should just be careful. A frisson of fear fizzed through Michael. He wouldn't kill me to keep his hoard, would he? Michael just didn't know. Another thought came to him and it made his gut tighten as if it were true. What if he's poisoned me with that delicious shortbread round?

Michael involuntarily let out a small gasp which he tried to disguise with a small cough.

"It's okay, Michael," Kendal said, looking steadily at the young man across from him. "You have nothing to fear from me. I've not taken precautions to silence you like poisoning you, for instance. With a delicious shortbread round."

Michael visibly gulped and Kendal smiled wryly at his discomfort, explaining,

"Poison was never my thing," pausing before adding," Well, only occasionally."

Michael gripped the armchair. How was Kendal able to know what he was thinking?

Kendal went on:

"You're safe. The most dangerous thing about my shortbread is the butter content and its ability, over time, to clog your arteries. And besides, I wouldn't consider a representative of the Council sent to my house to tell me to clear my front garden as a man with designs. The person who sent him maybe, especially if he," and Kendal put his left hand out before putting his right hand out, "or she, was having pressure applied, say, from an external interest for the land to be cleared with, say, a possibility of it being used for something other than the dwelling of an old retired civil servant." Here, Kendal paused and steepled his fingers, pensively. "Then, Michael, it might be considered, what should we call it, a prudent way of removing an obstacle?"

Staring keenly at Michael, Kendal pointedly asked: "That wouldn't be the case here would it?

This is Part 5 in a serialisation I am writing. You can find Part 4 here: