Taken: The Scent of Memory

A treacherous gust of wind extinguished my light with a hiss.

As I returned the aged timepiece to my coat pocket I caught a scent that immediately roused a memory from 6 years earlier, the day an old withered ship’s captain visited my then living father.

The two had exchanged furtive greetings and retired to my father’s private study, exiting many hours later. As they continued the private conference upon the front steps, I took the liberty of repairing to my father’s study to return a scientific periodical I had borrowed. I noted a strange odor lingered in the still air of that room – as if one had tried to mask the stench of rotting fish with something sweeter – nutmeg and cloves, I thought at the time.

I met father in the hall – he requested, in oddly passionate tones, that none disturb him in his study, claiming some tedious work that could not endure disturbance.

He spent the next few days in there, pacing often – evidenced by his methodical steps and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor.

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