The Uncorked Dalmore

“Is he still coming this way?”

Mary and Steven were staring out the window at the roaring blizzard beyond the frosted glass. It was almost impossible to make out anything past the landing of the steps outside the front door, the white dust hazing the air so that only the black figure was visible, contrasted against the white.

“Are you sure that’s a man?”

Steven continued to query his wife as he squinted out the window. He couldn’t see properly at the best of times, let alone now, with his glasses locked in the glove compartment of the car sitting in their driveway, snow caked up to the windscreen. It would take an hour of shovelling before even the drivers door could be opened, so he was rendered myopic until the storm ceased.

The weather forecast had foretold of a mild snowstorm, but as the hours had progressed, it’d turned into a raging blizzard. Steven knew he’d been lucky to have returned home early that day, for he too would’ve been caught in the storm, just like the man now approaching the house seemed to be.

“I’m certain of it. Only a human makes movements like that. By God, is that a cape? If I were any younger, I’d say it were a super hero braving that blizzard.”

The black figure wore a long coat that blew to one side as he approached.

Mary suddenly drew in an audible breath. “Oh my, it’s Miles Daniels.” She rushed over to open the front door.

“Mary, wait…” Steven had started, but the snow drenched man was already standing inside the doorway. He was tall and built strong. His clothes and hair were covered in a dusty coat of white, his sandy blonde beard adorning beaded crystals of frozen ice.

“Miles, are you alright?” Mary asked, concerned, while the visitor removed his coat, the source of the flowing cape in the snow.

“Yes, I’m fine, I got caught in the storm on my way home. If I’d have known a blizzard was coming, I’d have closed up the shop hours ago.”

“Didn’t you drive?”

“Yes, my car gave out a couple of hundred meters back that way.” He pointed out the window. “I’m going to have to do some digging to get it out tomorrow morning.”

Steven stood quietly and watched as Miles dusted off his hair and arms.

“Steven, it’s good to see you. I’m sorry for barging in at such an hour. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

Miles extended his hand, but Steven pretended he hadn’t seen the gesture and turned towards the living room.

“Not a problem. It wouldn’t be good for any of us if you were to die out there, now would it.”

Mary and Miles followed Steven into the living room. Miles was an attractive man, which only added to Steven’s enmity. His jaw was chiselled under the blonde, pruned beard, his eyes a deep blue that reminded Steven of the blue morpho butterflies that often occupied his front garden during summertime. Ashamedly, a part of him wished they shared the same life cycle.

“Would you like a warm drink?” Mary asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“How about a scotch?” Steven intervened. “I think this climate calls for a stiff drink. What do you say? I have a single malt Dalmore I’ve been saving for a rainy day. I suspect a snowy afternoon is just as cause.”

Mary looked nervously at her feet.

“Sure,” Miles said, smiling and nodding politely.

Steven made his way into the kitchen and opened the finest bottle of whiskey he owned. The Dalmore had been sitting on his shelf for four years, unopened, marinating in its own maturity. An impulsive urge had never arisen worthy enough to make him even contemplate breaking the seal. Not even when Mary and Steven had renewed their wedding vows three years ago, laying on the rug by the fire, laughing and rekindling long since dissipated sparks, had he even flashed a thought of unsealing his prized liquor. And yet, here he was, plucking the cork, knowing Miles Daniels was a connoisseur of the whiskey world. Word was that Miles possessed an exquisite collection of top shelf liquor. Steven’s gesture could’ve come off as a simple attempt at impressing their visitor, rather than a hidden challenge.

“To refuge from blizzards both inside and outside of our control,” Steven said, holding up his glass as he passed a neat version to Miles.

Miles smiled. “Cheers.”

“Oh?” Mary suddenly started, her eyes turning on her husband. “And you didn’t think that maybe I would like a glass too?”

Steven looked at her, confusion furrowing his brow. “But you don’t…”

“But I don’t drink whiskey? When have you ever thought to ask if I drink whiskey?” Her eyes took on a sharper edge, but her tone remained respectful in the presence of company. “I do drink whiskey. Especially when I’m offered so.”

“And who would’ve ever offered you a glass of whisk…” he paused. Mary’s shoulders were squaring. He looked over at Miles standing quietly.

“Your idea of who I should be conflicts with whom I actually am, Steven Daley.”

Embarrassment fluttered across Steven’s face, replaced by the sinews of anger. Controlling his temperament, he vanished back into the kitchen. Clearing his throat, he spoke.

“Neat, or on the rocks, my love?”

“On the rocks, thank you.”

“An interesting concept, isn’t it?” Miles began as Steven reentered the room. “Neat suggests tidy, organised, a bedroom with an eased taste. Strengthless. On the rocks, well, that implies jaggedness, a difficult terrain. Maybe a harsh venture. And yet when it comes to whiskey, neat is stronger, even harsher than that of on the rocks.”

“Yes, an interesting observation. Now, have you found yourself a girlfriend yet, Miles?” Steven changed the subject, feeling his control slipping. Mary stiffened, her hand beginning to clam around her glass.

Miles cleared his throat. “No, not just yet. I think I’m quite happy on my own for the time being.”

“Is that so? Well, maybe you should consider otherwise.”

“Steven…” Mary started acquiescently. If Steven fell into a mood, she knew it’d be near impossible to hinder his rise.

“I know many people in town who’d be pleased to hear it. What, a consummate bachelor such as yourself finally tying the knot? I think a party would be held. Call in the parades! A celebration long enough to last a month at least.”

Miles stared at Steven. This sudden eye contact seemed like provocation, a challenge to Steven’s status. His cheeks bloomed a shade of crimson jealousy. Suddenly, every breath of air Miles took was beginning to seem like a hierarchical assertion of superiority, an insult to Steven and his wife. The wind outside blew howling cries against the living room window panes, the snowstorm only seeming to increase, a mirror of the storm brewing inside of Steven.

Miles looked down at his glass.

“I think I’d best be off. In hindsight, I think my intrusion was ill timed. My apologies for disturbing your night. Thank you for the whiskey, Steven, it was a delicious drop. Bittersweet. One that I won’t be forgetting anytime soon. It should be enough to keep me warm until I arrive home.”

He bowed his head politely and moved for the front door. Mary stood up with a jolt.

“But you can’t leave, it’s too dangerous out there. Your house isn’t for another two blocks at the very least. And to the east. You’ll be fighting against the wind and snow. Stay the night.”

Her expression of worry was mortar for the bricks of abhor that were growing inside of Steven. How can she look at him with such caring worry in front of me, he thought to himself.

“Yes! Why not stay the night? I can set you up a spot in our bedroom. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable on familiar soil. Maybe you could even sleep in our bed. An instigator for a deep sleep. Or maybe an alternative activity, oppose to a heart to heart whiskey with another man and his wife, will aid to tire you out?”

“Oh, Steven!” Mary said, throwing her hands over her face.

“A kind gesture, but one that unfortunately I can not accept. Farewell Mary. Don’t worry, I’ll be perfectly fine,” Miles said, placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning down so that he could soothe her with a confident smile.

“Oh, it’s just a little bit of snow Mary, he’ll be fine. Besides, he has a cape. You said it yourself. No super hero can be bested by a small amount of westward wind, am I right, Miles?”

Miles smiled a final farewell and, without another word, threw his long black coat back over his shoulders, vanishing back into the snow before Mary could speak again. She watched as the dark figure slowly disappeared from view, the cape billowing out like a set of curtains in a hurricane.

Steven felt an instant relaxation run through him like warm liquid, as if he’d been possessed by a spirit of jealousy and anger that’d taken flight, like a fairy, back into the night the second Miles had left.

Mary turned on her husband.

“You should feel absolutely ashamed of yourself, Steven Daley. To think that it was possible for you to change. It’s one thing to lack forgiveness, quite another to send a man off to his potential death. Oh Steven, it was so long ago, have you not yet found it within yourself to move forward? You lied to me with those renewed vows. I never asked you to forget or to forgive, only to move forward. But you are the same man as you ever were. I see that now. Well, now you’ve gone and done it, and I can no longer take it anymore. I’m leaving you, Steven Daley, just as sure as this blizzard will pass, so too has our marriage.”

Before Steven could open his mouth to defend himself or his marriage, Mary left the room. Steven was left feeling ashamed of himself. With the spirit of jealousy and anger now gone, he felt the hollowness it’d burned into his heart. Had he just sentenced a man to death? The blizzard was no joke, dangerous for even the most knowledgeable of snow travellers. Had he underestimated the force of nature?

He spent the night on the couch, unable to sleep, conflicted by Mary’s words. Thoughts of whether Miles had made it home safely or not thrashed about inside his mind like waves in a typhoon. Eventually, in the early hours of the morning while the storm outside raged on, he fell into a dream. An image of police officers arriving at the front door the following day, asking about Miles Daniels. A body had been found, frozen beneath the pond on the outskirts of town to the east, where Miles lived. A man had been caught in the blizzard and, with their vision impaired, had stepped onto the ice capped pond and broken through, falling into the water, only to be stuck forever in a cryogenic sleep. The police identified the man as Miles Daniels.

Steven Daley woke up shivering in a cold sweat, his heart feeling colder than the frozen pond from his dreams.