Past Not Yet Forgotten. Chapter one.
The morning sun begins beaming through the front window, as the bell above the door is heard. A gentlemen in his sixties, suited to booted with a black feathered fedora enters, closing the door behind him. He looks around observing the sports decor of the shop to which he sees no one.
He spoke, " Hello, the sign on the door says open, i was hoping for a shave" his voice resonating off the tile floor.
" I'll be right with you" came a voice from the back room. The gentleman rests his arms behind his back turning to gaze upon the wall opposite of the mirrors and chairs. Hanging in various wooden frames were the pictures of famous actors and athletes, some signed some not.
A few moments later a man steps out from the dim lit back room, straight razor in his right hand. His left hand held one side of a two foot long brown leather strap, the other end connected to his belt. Looking over the gentlemen, " A shave was it?" he asks. Closing the razor, setting it on his work station, also letting the strap fall next to his left leg. "Allow me to get your coat sir, please sit and make yourself comfortable." he said as he helped slide the coat off the mans shoulders, turning around to hang it upon the rack.
The gentleman plops into the older style red cusioned metal polished barber chair, slouching into a relaxed position.
The barber lines the mans neck with sanex tape, before covering his front with the white cape. His foot poses on a lever behind the chair, pressing it down a few times to lean the gentlemen back. The barber then pauses looming at the back room for a few moments then continues. In front of the mirror he grabs a hot towel out of the steam box, wrapping it around the stubble of the gentlemens face. He then leans towards the chestnut box which house his razors, he picks up the one he had set on the counter. Grabbing the strap hanging from his waist, he stretches it out and begins to sharpen the blade. Gazing down, the barber speaks "You arrived at the perfect time sir, i had just finished prepping for my day and my first appointment isnt for an hour or so." Removing the towel from his face the gentlemen recalls "While visiting a good friend of mine George Démere, he passed on fine words that Gideon Smyth gives the closest, smoothest shave in this here county; so here i am!"
Smiling Gideon responds "Well then i shall let you be the judge of that, it will be my absolute pleasure." Ten minutes pass by Gideon has finished, placing a cold compress against the mans face.
"Now then my good sir which cologne will complement you?" asked Gideon. Opening a frosted glass cabinet where many evenly spaced bottles are shelved. The glass bottles read
Bois Du Portugal,
Tribu, Zizanie, Mitsouko, Crown Fougere and Caswell-Massey Number Six. All early 1900s classics. The gentleman picks Number Six, dabs it on his wrists then applies it to his neck and collar. "Closest and smoothest indeed" cheers the gentlemen as he lifts his coat from the rack putting it on and buttoning the front. The man then turns to Gideon asking "By the way my name is Walter Snow; what's the charge for this fine work Mr Smyth?" " The cost is $10 Dollars, but since Ol George sent you its only five Dollars today" remarked Gideon. Walter hands him a five, he thanks the barber again and proceeds out the door. Seeing Walter out the door he waits a moment looking out the glass door, left and then right. Gideon locks the door, flipping the sign to closed before drawing down the blinds on the door and front window. Letting out a grunt of annoyance he walks to his station lifting the razor from the counter, he proceeds back to the room in the rear. Striding through the doorway, closing and locking the door behind him. Gideon walks to a curtain hanging from the ceiling encircling the middle of the room. Drawing it back and stepping in he is waist height next a metal surgical table with a lip that has a four inch depth. He puts on a pair of gloves from a box on the table. A coma sedated woman in her mid twenties lay there stripped bare only covered by a white sheet. Her head freshly cut down to a stubble, Autumn colored hair sealed in a mason jar by her shoulder. Gideons fingers stroke her left cheek, his voice changes into a deep baritone as he speaks to her unconscious body. "You thought that daddy would make it all better didn't you?" Gideon chuckles. He continues " You, your family, and your friends are all the roots of the hell that terrorized many peoples youth ." He pauses pulling the sheet down past the curve of her thighs, trailing his finger tips down and around her warm skin.
" Your friends and you teasing and taunting with your bodies using every boy who'd chase you around. I know what you're thinking Amelia Snow, why just you? Rest easy your friends and family will have there turn on this table. Best part is im not gonna let you rot away and go to waste in some woods. As well as being a very skilled barber, there are some leisures of also owning a pig farm."