April 23, 2013 by misterblank22
Hoover woke to muffled voices in the doorway of the room. He recognized the female voice as Grace but was dumfounded by the elegant words spoken by the males. His vision blurred in and out before his eyes adjusted to their surroundings. Grace smiled as she let a well dressed man into the room. He took his hat off and held it at his side. He was in his mid 30’s and kindness radiated from him. A thin mustache clung to his upper lip.
“Mr. Adams I’m happy to meet you I am Winston Frost.” Winston approached Hoover who could barely remember who he himself was let alone understand who that man was.
“Hello Frost, may I ask why you’re here?” Hoover frowned at Grace who ducked into the bathroom before he had a chance to question her.
“Of course I-” Hoover quickly interrupted the tall man standing before him.
“Tell me who you are, your profession. I cannot speak to a man if I do not know what he does, everyone’s motives are different.” Hoover set up in the large bed.
“I am Winston Frost, I’m an author here in London, I had been living in Paris for some time before returning home.” Winston spoke clearly.
“An author, have you written anything I may have read?” Hoover buttoned his shirt.
“The Qualm of Davis is my most well received book, I am not sure if it made it to America though.”
“I’ve read it, terrible name but great prose a novel does not need such an epic name, you could have simply called it Davis.” Hoover squinted from the bright lights.
“Mr. Adams that would have missed the point, do not take this offensive but did you finish the book?” Winston said hoping he would not upset Hoover.
“Davis collapses in his father’s field while his daughter cries in her room. It was his conscience that killed him wasn’t it Frost?” Hoover grinned in a mischievous way.
“It depends how you felt his choices in life affected him. It could have simply been old age.”
“The daughter that was crying represented his wife and the future; you said she had every feature of her mother, and she had received the worst of Davis’ anger. Since she cried it just shows that his actions continued to affect his peers even on his death-bed, much like they had with his wife her mother.” Hoover crookedly smiled. Winston stared at Hoover stunned.
“You are completely right Mr. Adams; I never thought someone would understand the ending as I intended it. I am very surprised but also filled with glee.”
“Now tell me what you want with me?” Hoover pulled on his coat as he struggled to stand.
“Walter told me that I could find you here and I am happy I did as I have been trying to find you since you arrived. I know why you’ve come here and I commend you for your efforts but I also must give you warning. I know you’re type well Hoover; I have met many of you in my time. I know you won’t leave here until both your legs are crippled so I will not waste my breath, but I will give you one thing to help you.” Winston reached into his long black coat to pull out a small gun which shined in the light.
“A gun Frost?” Hoover questioned in slight defense, he did not know if the author planned to kill him.
“For your protection Mr. Adams.” Winston handed the small weapon to Hoover who reluctantly took it. He examined it before hiding it in his coat.
“You sought me out just for this? Forgive me for this but that seems ridiculous. I assume you fear Joseph Dylan and I must say I can understand that fear but I refuse to embrace it. A man who uses the weak as leverage to strike fear in the many is weak himself.” Hoover began to leave the room but stopped at the door with his hand on the golden handle. “I do not fear this man and neither should you Frost. ‘If I am to live a life in fear then bury me now for I will not allow myself to shake for a lifetime’ said Davis in chapter 9 of your novel. If I was you I would practice the words you write Frost.” Hoover opened the heavy door to leave, Winston quickly spoke.
“Fear is not always a sign of weakness, sometimes it is a sign of intelligence Mr. Adams.” Hoover smiled at Winston’s words before exiting the room.