LOST

Mr. Trent pulled the black van up into the gravel driveway of a three-story warehouse that didn’t look like it had been in use for a number of years. North Davidson Street in Charlotte had previously been an industrial area but was now a thriving arts district and housed several art galleries and studios. Zachary had told the real estate agent he was an artist and would be setting up his workspace there. The large grey, brick building dominated the late-morning sky. The top story was all windows, ten across, and three of those were broken. Zachary Di Corvo was an intimidating man. It only seemed fitting for him to have an intimidating fortress.

Mr. Trent leaned forward in the driver’s seat and wrenched his neck up so he could see the whole thing. “Not much to look at, Mr. Di Corvo,” Mr. Trent commented.

“I know. It’s perfect. No one will ever suspect anything disreputable going on here,” Zachary replied. “The power will be turned on tomorrow sometime. We’ll get the furniture moved in tomorrow afternoon. You’ll have to get an extendable ladder so you can black out the windows that aren’t broken and board up the others.”

“But I’m afraid of heights, Mr. Di Corvo.”

“Courage, Mr. Trent,” Zachary said with derision. “Courage is the ability to press forward… in spite of your fears.”

“Whatever.” Mr. Trent was not in the mood to argue and Mr. Di Corvo—ill-tempered and imperious—was not a person with whom you wanted to argue. “Should I wake up Mr. Scott?”

“No. Don’t wake him. I’m sure he’ll get up for lunch.”

A car pulled up beside them, a late model, but not brand new, slate blue Toyota Corolla. A woman in a business suit sat waving and smiling at them from inside. Mr. Trent stepped out of the van and went over to greet the real estate agent as she stepped out of her car.

“Mr. Di Corvo. Vonda Ellis,” the woman said, offering her hand. “We spoke on the—”

“No. I’m Mr. Trent. Mr. Di Corvo is in the van. He’ll be out in a second.”

Zachary looked out the front window of the van at the warehouse and thought about what it represented. For Mr. Trent and Mr. Scott, it would simply be a place of employment. An improvement over the rat-infested building they had left twenty-four hours ago, but nothing more. For Zachary, it meant he was one step closer to revenge for centuries’ worth of betrayal. He had been forced to live every minute of twelve hundred years with nothing in his heart but a great, deep and dark chasm left by the only thing he ever loved and the one thing he couldn’t have. Someone was going to pay, and, as he had seen so vividly in a dream, that someone was right here in Charlotte.

Mr. Trent knocked on the window, “You okay, Mr. Di Corvo?”

Zachary opened the door and stepped out of the van, the gravel crunching beneath his black boots. The woman looked at his black suit, black overcoat, closely cropped hair and finally at his face, which was pale white, in stark contrast to his attire. The only thing missing were the dark sunglasses, but in their place were his deep, penetrating eyes. He was not an extremely tall man, but his foreboding presence made him seem taller. She felt as if her very essence was being sucked up by the vacuum of the two black holes that sat on either side of his thin, crooked nose. She forced herself to turn away and began walking toward the building, trying hard not to reveal any uneasiness.

“Um… right this way, Mr. Di Corvo.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “What kind of artist are you? Photographer, painter…”

“I choose not to focus on one particular medium. I create whatever wants to come out and be seen,” Zachary replied.

“How… mysterious. Did you have a safe trip from Boston?”

“May I have the keys?” Zachary asked, ignoring her ploys for small talk.

“Certainly. Certainly. Here you are.” She fumbled the keys, nearly dropping them, as she handed them over to him. “Did you have any questions about the property?”

“No. Thank you, Ms. Ellis. I believe we can take it from here.”

“Okay, well, have a good day.” Glad to have her leave, she hurried back to her car as fast as she could without sprinting and all but spun out on the gravel as she drove away.

“I think you made her a little nervous, Boss,” Mr. Scott said, yawning, with his head sticking out of the window of the van.

“Good morning, Mr. Scott,” Mr. Trent chuckled.

Zachary unlocked the door to his new residence and let it swing open. Mr. Trent looked at the open door but could not see anything inside through the darkness. “This is a creepy place you picked out, Mr. Di Corvo.”

“Give me a moment,” Zachary said, stepping just inside the door. He stretched out his arms and closed his eyes. The darkness within him breathed deeply and the shadows that filled the old warehouse did the same. Just as someone enjoys a sunrise and the sunrise enjoys sharing its warmth, the warehouse seemed to enjoy sharing its bleak emptiness and Zachary was eager to accept it.