The two who left the bedroom took the elevator down to the basement.
The classic townhouses of Manhattan built in the 19th to early 20th century were structurally impossible to convert into underground parking garages. Therefore, no matter how wealthy a person was, they had to arrange for separate external parking. Of course, none of them had to drive themselves, so they probably didn’t feel particularly inconvenienced.
As with most of Manhattan’s traditional families, the Lockhart family’s main residence had also been a townhouse.
However, Lorenz and Joshua’s grandmother had purchased several neighboring townhouses over the years. And after securing sufficient land, she demolished all those buildings and built the current estate anew. Thanks to this, the Lockhart estate was able to possess the extremely rare privilege of having a private underground parking garage.
In the parking garage, a chauffeur was inspecting the vehicle Lorenz would use today.
Lorenz looked back at Margaret, who was following beside him.
“It’s a four-day schedule, but I’ll hurry back as soon as the work is finished.”
“Don’t worry too much about Lord Lucas.”
“……”
“He’ll get better soon.”
Lorenz nodded with a dark expression.
The vehicle carrying him slowly exited the parking garage.
Lorenz looked up at the window of Lucas’s room, opposite the master room his father had used. As always, the estate looked like a solid castle that didn’t allow any problems from the outside.
Withdrawing his gaze, he buried himself deep in his seat. As if the heavily tinted windows weren’t enough, he even put on sunglasses and crossed his arms firmly across his chest.
Before entering Madison Avenue, the chauffeur reported the situation.
“Lord Lorenz, there’s severe congestion today due to a large event in Long Island. I’ll cross the Brooklyn Bridge instead.”
“Do that.”
He answered in an indifferent tone as if it didn’t matter, then turned his gaze to the window.
The Upper East Side was enveloped in the uniquely vibrant quietness of morning hours. The season transitioning from late summer to fall. The sky visible above the old buildings of Madison Avenue was a clean blue. Bright golden sunlight overflowed onto the streets. However, Lorenz, like someone who didn’t know the blessing of light, was moved by nothing he saw before his eyes.
He only tried to concentrate on the music.
Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5.
It was one of the pieces he used as a sedative to forget his headaches.
The motif that began simply changed its form persistently through repetition and expansion, penetrating all movements. That precise structure and consistent rules gave Lorenz stability.
As they approached Midtown, the traffic increased and the streets began to get more crowded. The vehicle turned onto 2nd Avenue. The buildings and shops had a distinctly different atmosphere from the Upper East Side.
The vehicle, which had been heading south past tall newly constructed buildings that had completed redevelopment, slowly came to a stop at a signal. It was in front of an Italian restaurant with an emerald-colored awning and tables and chairs set out in the open air.
Several people were sitting at the outdoor tables enjoying a leisurely breakfast. They looked like tourists with expressions suggesting nothing in the world was urgent.
However, Lorenz’s face grew darker.
Despite taking medication, despite trying to focus on the music, his headache showed no signs of improving.
It seemed he would have to take additional painkillers.
Just as he was reaching for the Boston bag placed on the seat next to him, something outside the car window caught his attention.
A bicycle slowly decelerated and came to a stop right next to Lorenz’s car. It was close enough that if he rolled down the window and stretched out his arm, he could even grab the other person’s wrist.
Lorenz pulled down his sunglasses.
Twenty-three? Or maybe twenty-four? Perhaps even younger than that. But he was a man whose expression somehow looked mature.
A youthful face that suited the word “young man” much more than “man.” However, he didn’t have that excited recklessness characteristic of young men.
The man looked around while waiting for the signal. Then, as if the helmet strap was giving him trouble, he struggled to refasten the buckle. But it didn’t seem to be going as he wanted.
Without Lorenz himself being conscious of it, his upper body slowly leaned forward.
He rolled down the window about half a span. Through the open gap, the man’s profile came into view precisely. The symphony entering the fourth movement shed its gloomy tension and transformed into a march toward victory with conviction.
Lorenz muttered as if reciting an incantation.
“Take it off. Take it off.”
As if he had heard those words.
The man, giving up his fight with the buckle, finally removed his helmet.
“……”
Bright blond hair, as if it had absorbed all the sunlight on the street, spilled out from inside the helmet.
The man, sweeping back his slightly sweat-dampened hair, hurriedly shoved the helmet into his backpack.
The light changed. When starting off, the bicycle was slightly faster. Lorenz followed the departing man’s back with his eyes. The sunlight felt like a spotlight that existed solely to illuminate him.
Before long, the car overtook the bicycle.
Lorenz looked back.
The bicycle, which had made a left turn around a large new building, disappeared from view.
Quite a rare beauty. Life won’t be easy for him.
Suddenly Lorenz’s eyebrows twitched. A passage from a book that had been buried for a long time in the dust pile of his memory came to mind.
‘My dear Basil, I can’t see the slightest resemblance between you and this young man in the picture. You have a hard, rugged face with dark hair, while this young Adonis looks as if he were made of ivory and rose petals!’
『The Picture of Dorian Gray』
It was a book he had closed after reading only a few pages because it didn’t suit his taste. Yet that passage came back to life as vividly as if he had read it just this morning.
An Adonis made of ivory and rose petals.
If such a person truly existed, he would look exactly like that.
Lorenz pushed up his shirt sleeve slightly to check his watch.
8:43 AM.
The alley where the man had disappeared on his bicycle was definitely East 46th Street.
Considering the time and his appearance, it was unmistakably his commute to work.
Coincidentally, the music was coming to an end. As if proclaiming the victory finally grasped after persistent struggle, the majestic harmony left a deep resonance in the car.
8:43 AM. East 46th Street.
Lorenz repeated it in his mind as if to engrave it in his brain.
And he suddenly realized.
Without being conscious of it, the headache that had been so terrible had disappeared like a lie.
■
After finishing one afternoon counseling session, Elian was writing a report at his desk in the office.
Elian had already passed the NCMHCE¹⁾, but to finally obtain his license, thousands of hours of practical counseling training were additionally required. Until then, as a counselor-in-training, he could conduct counseling under the supervision of a qualified supervisor. Currently, Elian’s supervisor was Dr. Morgan, the center director.
During this time, Elian had been in charge of a child who had immigrated with their parents from Indonesia. It was a child who had shown stress reactions to the drastically changed environment due to immigration and had refused to attend school.
Over the past two months, the child’s anxiety reactions had noticeably diminished.
Today, the child talked to Elian about their school life, which had resumed. The child, chattering on about a newly made friend and a favorite teacher, no longer seemed to need the counselor’s intervention. While they would have to watch carefully for the time being, it was no longer at a level to be concerned about.
Elian was thinking of proposing to Dr. Morgan that they could pause the child’s counseling for a while and observe the situation.
“Elian.”
At the voice calling from behind, Elian’s hand stopped. Looking back, Dr. Morgan’s secretary was standing at the office door.
“Michelle, what is it? Is there something I can help you with?”
“No, Elian. Did Ratna’s interview go well?”
“Yes, I’m writing the report now.”
“Is that so? The doctor asked you to stop by her office for a moment.”
“Uh… right now? I just finished the counseling session, so the report isn’t complete yet.”
Michelle smiled.
“It didn’t seem to be about the report. Go ahead and see her.”
If it’s not about the report, what could it be?
Since Dr. Morgan wasn’t the type to summon people unless it was absolutely necessary, Elian headed to the center director’s office with curiosity.
***
¹⁾ NCMHCE: National Clinical Mental Health Counseling Examination, a national exam required to obtain a mental health counselor license in the United States.
