12 Years. He went 12 years without a single idea of what had become of his parents. Nights spent wondering if they were alright if they had gotten tired of him and left him to die alone. And every day he would ask Peter for news of their location, and every day he would say,

"No one knows."

Franz stopped a few blocks away from the bank, interrupted by a coughing fit. He felt betrayed, he felt cheated. Peter could never understand the torture of growing without his family, to blame himself for their absence. He fell to his knees, his eyes stinging with salty tears. He clenched his jaw.

He would not be weak now, he wouldn't be a coward. He needed to march into that liar's office with a strength he had lost years ago. He needed to speak his mind for once. Trembling, he rose to his feet.

What would he say? Would he even be able to manage a sentence once he looked him in the eyes? Would Peter even acknowledge him? He swung the back door open, throwing politeness to the wind. 

Damn their manners, he thought. Damn their rules and damn this town. He was robbed of something more important than their security veiled by cultural norms. 

He pushed through the crowds and marched past the secretary. She lifted her eyes to watch him in worry. Lifting a finger she called after him.

"Mr. William's isn't taking any visitors right now--"

"Screw him." He hissed under his breath.

The secretary's eyes widened. Not once had that man ever spoken in such a manner. Something was the matter. 

Franz stomped up the stairs. His knee continued to scream at him, begging for him to slow down. But he thought, damn his knee as well. Damn it all. He would not stop, he would not allow his only chance at clarity and peace be hindered by his own handicaps. 

He could hear the muffled voice of Peter from inside his office. It made Franz's blood boil. Did he dare to be too nonchalant? 

Franz's hand raised to knock on the door out of habit. He caught himself and pushed the door open instead. Inside, Mr. Williams sat on his same leather chair, smug and content. His hands were folded over his dark vest, fondling a fountain pen. He didn't lift his eyes to the man in the doorway, he didn't give him the pleasure of a reaction.

Franz cleared his throat, holding back tears, "Have you no shame? Have you no empathy? How could you keep this from me?"

"I found it best to keep you in the dark, Schwarz."

Franz clenched his fist, his neck felt hot, "My name is Franz. If you won't give me a straightforward answer, then at least give me that."

Mr. Williams held the pen in a hand. A dim reflection of sunlight glinted off of the golden tip. He sighed and tucked it into his vest pocket. Mr. Williams straightened himself, leaning over the desk. He raised his eyes to look at Franz, whose tears had begun to flow once more over his colorless cheeks.

"Did you read all of it?" Mr. Williams asked.

Franz sniffed loudly, "No, 'course not. I don't care, what they said, not importance."

His English began to break as his mind became fogged with emotion. He hadn't felt so overcome with despair in years.

Mr. Williams rubbed his forehead in impatience, "I didn't quite understand their reasons for leaving myself when I first read the letter. I still don't. But I thought you would be better off not knowing of their death. You were young and emotional, I didn't know what you would do."

Franz licked his lips, "Schlappschwanz."

Mr. Williams raised a brow, his muscles tensed, "Don't start insulting me, boy. I raised you after they...died. I gave you a job, didn't I? I pulled you out of the mines. I didn't want to also deal with a recently orphaned child as well. It was better to keep you thinking they were alive."

Franz felt a burning rage within him grow by the second. Every word that Peter spoke only fed the flame. 

"You...are selfish. I deserved to know--I deserved to know! You don't understand what not knowing did to me! The guilt I carried! I thought they left me!"

Mr. Williams stood, fists pounding on the table as he did, "I will not take this disrespect! I delivered the letter to you because I thought you were old enough to deal with their passing, but as I can see you are still a child."

Franz turned away, his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He rushed out of the office. The stairs seemed longer now as if they had stretched into a long rabbit hole. Painful extra steps added until the end of his journey away from that dismal office. As he passed the secretary she lifted her head to face him.

"Oh, hello Mr. Schwarz. Mr. Williams can't take any visitors right now, would you like me to give him a message?" She spoke a calm and patient tone.

Franz furrowed his brow, "N-no I...I already--"

He trailed off. He didn't want to stay in that dusty bank any longer, and the secretary's strange remark wasn't enough motivation to keep him there.

                                       . . . .

Jack

He wasn't one for drinking. Despite the liberation it enticed, alcohol was an elixir that frightened him. But that evening, the sun was dimmer and the air felt heavier than before. He ordered a Marsala, a classic in the town and in London (or so he heard).

He scoped the atmosphere around him. Many different people fraternized around him. Low-class workers, miners, gentlemen, and ladies. Jack, on the other hand, found himself alone. He was unsure of how he should feel about his friendless state. Jack knew a few people around town, but none of them ever called upon him. He didn't mind that. But perhaps he would enjoy a drinking buddy. 

The door swung open and the bartender gave a smile to the figure that trudged inside.

"Mr. Schwarz! Good to see you again!" He called.

Mr. Schwarz, of course. Jack knew the banker pretty well. Upon his first encounter with the German man, he believed him to be as old as his teacher; Mr. Tillie. He was surprised to find out that Mr. Schwarz was but only a few years older than him. 

Mr. Schwarz had a hollow look in his eyes as he sat on the barstool, his leg shook rapidly as he awaited his drink. The bartender could already tell what strong liquor was required for the man's nerves. 

Jack cleared his throat drawing Mr. Schwarz's tired eyes in his direction. He noticed the red puffed skin around them. Had he been crying? He didn't want to pry.

"Hello, Mr. Schwarz! Funny running into you here." He gave a smile, to which Franz responded weakly.

His eyes fluttered to the ground and he diverted his gaze towards his wringing hands. Jack noticed a glossy reminiscence of tears on his cheeks. 

"Hello, Mr. Marner." He spoke with a slight croak in his voice. 

Jack pressed his lips together in dismay. He wasn't close friends with Mr. Schwarz. Why he had only seen the man when he got fit for suits and even then he was only assisting as an apprentice. But something within him, perhaps the liquor, willed him to help the poor man out.

He watched as the bartender slid a pint of beer towards Mr. Schwarz's direction, who grabbed the handle with a skinny hand and slowly raised it. He took a large desperate gulp and shakily exhaled. Jack waited a moment before continuing his idle chatter.

"How's the new job?"

Mr. Schwarz's broad eyebrow twitched a little, "It's going great, thank you."

Jack sensed a bit of annoyance in his tone. Nevertheless, he continued, "I hope the stitching has been holding up. Did you find everything comfortable--"

Franz turned briskly, his eyes squinting in desperation, "Please, just leave me alone. Please, Jack." 

Jack paused, his mouth still open. Never once had Mr. Schwarz referred to him as anything other than "Mr. Marner". Never once had he refused conversation with him. Franz's eyes widened in embarrassment as he realized what he had done. His brows lifted, wrinkled in worry instead of anger.

"Ah, forgive me--Mr. Marner. I didn't mean to be so brute. I just need...some space, time to myself. That's all."

Jack sighed. Times were hard, he couldn't imagine being part of the ranks during them. Mr. Schwarz was a difficult person for him to understand, but he was still a person. He rested a hand over his, a casual show of friendship. 

"Do you need someone to listen?"

Mr. Schwarz's eyes lit up. His cheeks suddenly inflamed with a deep crimson. He gave a quiet nod.

"Then speak to me."