Part 1: The Letter
Disclaimer: The characters are mental children of Matt Groening and thus do not belong to me. But this twisted story does.
Charles Montgomery Burns looked up from his pea-soup to the younger man. The room was lit by candlelight and he could barely see his assistant's face. Waylon Smithers had been acting strangely lately. He could not quite put his finger to it but he knew that the younger man was different that he used to.
"Smithers," he barked and the other man shot up, "Where is your mind travelling to? I said I'm done with the soup."
"Oh," the man barely exclaimed and hurried to collect the plate and spoon. He gathered them quickly and retreated into the kitchen.
The owner of Springfield's Power Plant looked at him retreat, annoyance mixed with puzzlement. Waylon Smithers Jr. had stopped asking silly questions about how he found his cooking a month ago. Thinking about it this was the same period he started acting strangely.
The younger man had become – how could he define it – distant probably. He stopped speaking to him, he was losing focus, and he was not even affected when he told him he found him to be a nuisance. He just smiled glumly and told him he was sorry for this.
"I lost my appetite," he announced when the younger man served him the main dish of grilled steak, "I need you to help me prepare for bed Smithers."
The younger man looked at the plate for a few seconds before saying "certainly sir" and helping him stand.
-)-)-)
"I've put food in the fridge for the weekend sir. Your cook can take care of the heating I hope," Waylon commented as he helped the older man into his bed.
"Are you going away for the weekend Smithers?" the older man asked in amazement. It was rare for his assistant to spent time away from him. For a moment he felt something similar to disappointment but he could not define the reason for it.
"Yes sir. I won't be in Springfield till Monday morning at work time. So I arranged for your other driver to take you to work," Smithers commented as he fluffed the pillows.
Charles Montgomery Burns watched Smithers' hands fondling his pillow, arranging the bed covers and he grumbled. In his age he hated changes. That boy should have known that already.
"I'll be seeing you on Monday morning then," he grumbled angrily and for a second he was taken aback as he noticed Waylon had an expression of misery. That man seemed in distress, it seemed that something was troubling him. He opened his mouth to ask him about it but he changed his mind immediately. He had never cared for anyone and he wasn't going to start now.
The man moved away and closed the curtains. He went towards the door and stopped. They both looked at each other, the younger man as if expecting something from him. The older man looked at him wondering what he was supposed to tell him. Finally Smithers bowed his head.
"Take care sir," he wished him glumly and exited the room, closing the door behind him.
-)-)-)
The weekend passed away very slowly. It was one of the most boring weekends he had experienced. Charles Montgomery Burns almost jumped out of his bed in excitement on Monday morning, but he quickly remembered that in his old age that was slightly uncomfortable. He had admit it though that spending two days alone was more exhausting than any of Smithers' antics and planned events.
Monty Burns' lips curled to a scowl. It was amazing but the younger man's image had vexed him for the entire weekend. His annoying presence was surely missed.
"No," he thought, "Waylon isn't annoying. He is… what is the word? . . . Frustrating!"
He sighed. It was true. Waylon Smithers Jr. was clingy. He could even say that he was more jealous that any of his female lovers. It was odd really. It wasn't that he had not noticed the young man's strange behaviour towards him. He had realised it years ago that the younger man held a strange infatuation for him. He had spent years being mean, putting him down. And the more he put him down the more Waylon chased after him. And then the more the young man chased after him, the more he enjoyed it.
The old man's lips unfolded to a twisted smile. It was sadistic but Waylon's love for him made him feel more and more powerful and alive each single day. It was probably because he enjoyed being loved unconditionally despite the fact that he could be so cruel. So the more Waylon smiled, the more he pushed the younger man's buttons, crushing him to pieces – rejecting him.
The twisted smile faded. And yet…
There were moments Monty Burns wished he wasn't so mean. There were moments a voice echoed in his head making him feel bad about how he treated the younger man. And then... Then a fear would seize him. A fear that one day Waylon would just go away and he would end up all alone.
He snorted at the notion. Smithers was a ninny. He would never leave him. He didn't have the guts to do so. That idea was simply unimaginable. He fixed his tie's knot and left the room.
-)-)-)
When Charles Montgomery Burns entered Smithers' office to go into his own, he did not expect that he was about to receive a lifetime's worth of shock.
Smithers' office area was clean, clean and empty from all personal belongings. The young man's business books were missing. The photograph's on his desk too! He moved closer to inspect. Even the brass tag with Smithers' name was missing.
A pang of shock and-could he have called it? – fear seized him. He opened the desk's drawers. They were empty and clean. He hurried into his office immediately and there it was, in the middle of his own desk's surface, a blue envelope. He sat down and took it in his ancient hands. Waylon Smithers' handwriting was addressing him. He took a letter opener and tore the envelope open carefully.
"Dear Sir,
I cannot count the times I have started writing this letter. Each time I tore the paper in regret and fear. Each time I felt too weak to write it down so I did the only thing I could. I destroyed it and moved on working as if nothing has ever taken place. But not this letter. Not this time. This time I am determined to finish this letter. I have to say what I have been hiding for the last twenty years.
I am in love with you. I do not know when this happened. I do not know why this happened. All I know that it did happen and ever since I have lived my whole life in secret.
At first I thought this was just a phase I went through. That it would go away. I mean I was married and I had married my wife out of love. The thing is that this love never did. It kept going on and on, eating my soul away because you remained totally indifferent.
I know you are aware of my feelings for you. It would be an insult to believe that the most ruthless man in the world, and the most intelligent I have ever met, is an innocent old man that has not realised that his assistant is in love with him. So I decided to humble myself until you realised that my love for you is unlimited.
Yet my feelings were never returned. It seems that you just drew pleasure from seeing me act like a love-struck idiot. You probably made fun of me, called me a fool. I kept thinking that I was worthless of your love, I even started drinking. There were days I could not go to sleep unless I had drunk two bottles of whiskey. And then came the turning point.
A year ago I almost died because you could not afford my thyroid medicine and you sir, you smuggled my medicine from Canada and when it did not work you gave me that mouth-to-mouth.
You will never understand how I felt. I was ecstatic! I thought that in order for you to go into the trouble of smuggling my medicine in order to lean down and give me that "kiss" that had to be a sign that you held feelings for me too. I soon discovered that I was only an idiotic fool.
Nothing happened. You became crueler every single day. It was really an eye-opener. I was nothing to you. It really was the inconvenience of training another assistant that caused you to save my life. I just looked at myself and I was horrified. What a big idiot I have been! I had spent the last twenty years chasing a chimera and now I could not stop. So I had two options. I could either fight my addiction with a new addiction or I had to go cold turkey on you. Since drinking and smoking do not seem to work anymore, I chose the latter.
I, Waylon Smithers, decided that I am going to resign from the position of your assistant. In fact two months ago I remembered that my five-year contract is coming to an end. I know you are in shock now. "Smithers has a contract?" you are wondering. Yes I do and always seem to forget about it. Yet this instance I decided not to remind you about the end of it. My contract ended on Saturday evening. I am not longer part of Springfield's Power Plant's personnel. In the envelope there is a copy of my old contract. It was a pleasure working with you but I really need to move on.
Sincerely yours,
Waylon Smithers Jr."
Charles Montgomery Burns looked at the letter and then at the old contract. He kept looking at them; puzzlement turning to disbelief and then to anger. He clenched his fists, shot up, tossed the crumbled letter away and picked up the telephone's receiver. He pressed a few button, muttering angrily under his breath.
"Ahoy there," he said quickly, "Tell my driver to start my limo and wait for me. Where to? A Bloody Idiots' House!"
Hmm what do you think? I always thought that Burns must know of Smithers' feelings. He toyed too many times with his soul to be ignorant. So this little story sprouted from the idea that most people realise what they have lost when they actually lose it.