Golden afternoon light filtered in through the open windows at the end of the hallway, giving the usually dark corridor an ethereal shine. Arthur turned to look over his shoulder into his room, allowing himself one last look at the place he'd called home for the past twenty-three years. Dark mahogany furnishings were accented by white and golden curtains, sheets, and trim. His desk, once littered with notebooks, pencils, and pens, was barren save for his house key, which he'd left for the maids to take care of. The light had been switched off, and the thick curtains pulled shut, leaving the room plunged in darkness. The only light was the faint glow that had managed to leak through the lightly colored drapes. He had cleaned the room himself that morning, making sure everything was in its place. Well, almost everything.
His lips turned up in a faint smile, though he was unsure if it was from the memory of the place or the thought of leaving it. Taking a deep breath, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and closed the door behind him. He looked down the hall, his eyes falling on the large door leading to his father's study. Willing himself to stop shaking, he slowly made his way to the room, dragging his packed bag behind him and preparing himself for the fight he was sure would take place.
He clutched a white envelope in one hand, nervously running his thumb over the red wax stamp holding it shut. He hesitantly knocked on the door once, waiting for the deep, husky voice of his father. Agonizing seconds ticked by as he waited for a response.
"Um, Father? It's Arthur," he knocked again, but with a surer fist.
"Come in, Arthur," Arthur jumped at his father's voice before forcing himself to at least attempt to remain calm. Arthur pushed the door open, and was met with the familiar scent of old books and stale coffee. Cheerful days spent studying with his siblings in here flashed before his eyes, quickly followed by more recent, and much darker memories. He shifted nervously, unsure how to start the conversation. He dropped his bag beside the door outside, and cautiously walked towards the chair in front of his father's desk. He felt as though he was wading through water. His mind was somewhere else, somewhere distant. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and his head spun, leaving him hoping he could disguise his dizziness as he took a seat.
"I'm glad you came to see me, son. I have an important subject to discuss with you regarding your-"
"Father, this is my letter informing you of my travel plans," he forced the words out before he lost what little courage he had left.
"Well, we can discuss that in a moment, but first, you've met-"
"My plane leaves later this evening, so I'll be heading to the airport around four. The details are explained in my letter," Arthur hardened his voice, hoping to be taken seriously. He thrust his hand forward, holding the envelope out to his father. A sick feeling of dread churned in his stomach like poison. He directed his mind to focus on the shine of his shoes. The feeling of his pants brushing against his ankles. The circles and swirls in the floorboards. Anything to keep from looking into his father's eyes. Arthur could hear the blood rushing in his ears, waiting for his father to yell. Scream. Hit him. Something. Anything.
"I'm afraid your plans will have to be delayed. You see, we have guests who are arriving today to meet you. All the way from Seychelles, I might add," Arthur could feel his cheeks burning. His father's voice was dangerously low; something Arthur knew to be the precursor to less than pleasant events.
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to tell them to cancel. Delaying their arrival won't be necessary. I'll stay a few moments for afternoon tea to make the announcement, but I don't plan to return to England any time soon," his voice gradually quieted until it was barely above a whisper.
"No."
His father's voice was stern and cold, taking hold of Arthur's heart with an icy grip. Arthur's head shot up, adrenaline beginning to make its way through his veins.
"Excuse me?"
"I said 'no', Arthur. This is the last I want to hear of the matter. I expect you to be ready for our guests' arrival this evening," the man looked back down at his laptop and began typing, making Arthur flinch at each tap of the keys.
"Father," Arthur stood up, furrowing his eyebrows in aggravation. "I am twenty-three years old. I'm no longer a child, and am under no obligation, legal or otherwise, to remain here with you. I'm surprised you aren't more excited over my leaving. I'd assumed you'd be ecstatic that I'd be out of your hair," Arthur forced himself to keep his voice at a civil volume, but couldn't stop a hint of annoyance from slipping through his teeth. Arthur stood and leaned forward on the table, his hands clenching into fists, crushing the letter still folded his his palm.
"You say you aren't a child, so stop acting like one."
"I'm not the one acting childish. Only children cling so desperately to things they don't want simply because it's theirs," Arthur leaned back, dropping the envelope on the desk among the other piles of books and forms. His father looked up, his eyes wide and his jaw tightened.
"Arthur, you're testing my temper. You know you have duties to fulfill here. As the heir to the family, you have certain responsibilities."
"Do you really believe I give a damn about my responsibilities? Just give the job to Lisa or Allistor for God's sake!"
Suddenly, Arthur fell back into his chair, pain blossoming across his cheek. He looked up at his father, who had stood up on the other side of the table with his fist raised. Arthur brought his hand to his cheek, realizing with the beginnings of burning panic that his face had begun to bleed where his father's ring scraped across his skin.
"Do what you want, you can't stop me from leaving," his voice shook despite his best efforts to keep it even. He should be able to protect himself. He wasn't a child anymore. His father shouldn't have any power over him. It wasn't as though this was abnormal, but every time it happened, fear seemed to freeze in his veins, stopping all motion. Memories he had all but blocked out came rushing back. The breaking glass, the screaming, the hospital room…
Arthur recoiled backwards, watching his father walk around his desk, preparing himself for an even worse beating. He knew his father was probably too old for this by now, but the fear was always there. The fear that one day he'd snap again. Even now, though worn with age, Arthur knew what all that pent up fury could do to his father. It made him a monster.
"Get the Hell out. You're pathetic," his father looked down his nose as if Arthur was nothing more than a piece of trash. Garbage that wasn't worth the effort to pick up. Arthur winced at his father's tone as he pushed himself to his feet. At just over fifty years, he could still do significant damage.
Arthur watched his father sit back down and press his hands into his temples, pushing his reading glasses up from where they rested on the bridge of his nose. He looked absolutely exhausted. A short-lived twinge of guilt formed in the pit of his stomach for just a moment, before being buried under memories of hospital lights and the sickening crunch of bones.
"I'll be taking my leave now. Everything you should know is explained in my letter," Arthur brushed himself off, leaving his father with a glare before turning on his heel towards the door.
He hovered at the doorway for a few moments, waiting, dare he say, hoping, for his father to speak once more. He was met with only silence. Keeping his eyes downcast, he quietly shut the door and pulled the duffel bag over his shoulder. He let out a shaky breath, sparing a single glance back to the door.
"Arthur? Going somewhere, brother?" Arthur smiled sadly at the familiar accent of his sister Lisa's voice. How cruel fate could be.
"Yes, actually. Well, I suppose I'm not really leaving until later today," it hurt Arthur to speak those words to his sister. For all the fighting they did, Lisa was one of his only siblings he considered real family. She'd given up so much for him. She'd endured so much pain for him.
Ah, well, that was in the past now. Besides, he didn't need anything more to worry about. Especially not something so depressing.
"And where would someone like you be going on a day like this? Avoiding this evening's company?" Arthur turned to see his sister leaning against the wall. Her long copper waves draped over her shoulders. As usual, she refused to wear the fancy dresses their father persistently presented her with. Still, Arthur supposed the eburnean dress could be considered fancy by those not accustomed to their lifestyle.
"The states, actually. I managed to persuade Alfred to secure an apartment for me in New York City," Lisa laughed, shaking her head.
"How you managed to get him to speak to you, let alone help you, I've no idea. But I guess that explains the…" she tapped her cheek meaningfully and glanced at the door to their father's study. She forced a laugh to lighten the mood. No one else would have been able to notice the hint of sadness in her voice, but it was undoubtedly there, leaving a soft whisper of coppery heartache in her words.
Arthur chuckled, bringing a hand to cover his mouth politely. Laughing about his father's temper was easier than taking it seriously. It was moments like this, when no one else watched, where he could really speak to his sister, without the pressure to be excessively polite or excessively rude to one another.
Neither of them knew what to say. Lisa had probably been expecting this for a while, but it didn't prevent the fear from forming in the pit of their stomachs. They'd been each others support for so long, being apart was bound to be difficult. Arthur could only hope his father's mood would improve after he left, rather than worsen. He wouldn't be able to bear being the reason for more wounds.
"Well," Arthur coughed awkwardly, breaking the spell. "I suppose this is goodbye. Am I correct to assume you won't be joining the family for tea? You never did like family gatherings. I…" his voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.
"I don't intend to return, and I'm only staying to speak to Peter, and perhaps Allistor and Christian, if they care to listen," Arthur sighed, reaching his hand out to Lisa's. Suddenly, he remembered the other letter in his pocket.
"Oh! Here, I didn't intend to give this to you until after I'd made it to the states, but I suppose now is as good a time as ever," he reached into his suit pocket, pulling out an envelope with Lisa's name written in flourishing cursive on the back.
"It's my contact information. I didn't want father to have it, but I didn't think it would hurt to leave someone back home with a way to get in touch," Lisa tucked the envelope away in her bra and winked.
"I won't let anyone else get it, and I promise to stay out of your hair unless it's completely necessary," her voice took on it's usual lilting tone once more now that she knew Arthur hadn't intended this to be their last meeting. Arthur almost regretted trying to avoid her before his departure. It wouldn't have been fair to leave her wondering where her brother had gone. His father would have never revealed the truth. Most likely he would have simply told her to be grateful that Arthur was finally out of her way. There would be no one left standing between her and the position as the heir to the family name.
"Goodbye, Lisa," Arthur laughed, walking by her towards the staircase.
"Bye, Arthur," he heard her whisper softly as he passed. He brought his bags to the door, leaving them beside the coat rack before making his way to the dining room to his left. A white door complete with an intricate carving of a forest scene led to the patio where Arthur could see Peter sitting with a book in his hand. The glass tabletops shone in the sunlight, and he could hear Christian laughing in the background. Arthur forced a smile and sat opposite Peter, unsure of what he should say.
"Ahem," Arthur coughed, trying to think of the right words to say.
"What do you want?" Peter raised his copy of Hamlet up over his eyes and pretended to continue to scan the yellowed pages, though Arthur could clearly see his cornflower blue eyes peeking out from the side of the book. Honestly, for all he tried to act like an adult, he was so childish. He seemed even younger than twelve.
"I just came to say goodbye," Arthur leaned back in his chair raising his hand in a nonchalant gesture. Peter raised an eyebrow, a look of almost disbelief beginning to fall over his face.
"You never come to just say goodbye. We barely see each other anyways, idiot," his voice was filled with its typical false spite. Arthur noticed that Christian had quieted, no doubt listening in on his and Peter's conversation. Arthur didn't mind; this would be his chance to say goodbye to his other brothers as well. He highly doubted that they'd be keen on confronting him face to face. Peter, on the other hand, would feel betrayed if Arthur didn't speak to him at least once before leaving.
"Well this time I'm afraid we won't be meeting again. At least, not for quite a while," Peter remained quiet, as if trying to process what he'd just heard.
"Is it a business trip?" Peter had placed his book on the table and instead used his hands to pick at the corner of his napkin. His legs began to swing back and forth, just barely brushing against the floor.
"I'm afraid not. It's more of a, well, a personal venture I suppose," Arthur averted his eyes, focusing them on the windows into the library. He looked over the shelves, searching for the shelves of each of his favorite books. "At any rate, I'm most likely not going to see you again for a rather long time," Arthur stood up, still avoiding Peter's eyes, and looked over to Allistor and Christian, whose eyes were now locked on Arthur. The silence was deafening, seemingly lasting forever.
Peter's feet ceased swinging under the table, and his mouth opened in shock. The hands of the clock might as well have stopped. Arthur awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh beginning in the back of his throat. He coughed quietly to cover it, the sound ringing in his ears through the stillness.
"You jerk! You honestly waited till now to tell me this? And you're leaving today?" Peter shouted, having had all but jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking over the entire table.
"I didn't think you'd need to know until-"
"Just shut up," Peter's hands were pulled into fists, his eyes cast down at his shoes. Arthur sighed, realizing Peter was going to make this much more difficult than it had to be.
"Look, Peter, I'm sorry," Arthur held his hand out to his brother. Peter reluctantly took his brother's hand in his and shook. He crossed his arms, not once looking over at Arthur.
Arthur shook his head, turning back to look at Allistor and Christian once more. Christian gave him a small wave before turning back to Allistor and continuing the conversation, not noticing that Allistor wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was staring at Arthur, his eyes widened just slightly and a mischievous grin on his face. Arthur could guess what he was thinking. No doubt he was wondering who would take Arthur's place as the heir. Allistor took his cigarette between two fingers and brought it down to smother it in the ash tray. He looked almost confused, but mostly amused. He nodded slightly, and Arthur returned the gesture with a faint smile before heading back inside the manor.
Almost immediately, a maid he recognized as Vanessa came running through the hall, informing him of a taxi waiting outside the manor for him.
Arthur thanked her dully, his mind still stuck in replaying the events of the past few minutes. He really hadn't expected Peter to become so angry. Trying to brush off the shock, he made his way to the cab out front, grabbing his coat and bag by the door. Checking his pocket one last time for his phone, he pushed open the door. He smiled with feigned cheer, nodding to the gardeners as he passed them. Vanessa had run ahead to stand by the cab door, opening it for Arthur as he approached. He muttered a quiet thank you before ducking into the vehicle, when a thought occurred to him. He put his hand out to stop the maid from shutting the door.
Arthur turned to the cab driver and gave him the destination. His gaze immediately fell to the scenery outside the car. This could be his last time seeing the manor, it's garden, and the gate he had learned to accept as his home. Yellow, white, and purple wildflowers grew in small, seemingly random patches along the side of the house. The humble garden of the manor was inconsistent with the palace-like interior. False advertising, almost.
Good riddance.
The bag beside him contained only clothing, a laptop, his most prized novels from his library, and a few notebooks. He'd left behind everything else. His entire life, gone. He'd assumed it would be more eventful. It should have been raining. Lightning and thunder should be crashing. The earth should have opened up beneath him. There should have been fire and screaming and earthquakes. But there wasn't. It was an average summer day with sunshine, blue skies, and a taxi cab with his old house in its rearview mirror.
Finally.
The drive to the airport was short and uneventful. Arthur stood outside the cab, fishing the cash from his wallet. He half expected his father's shining black limousine to appear and drag him back home.
No. That place wasn't home.
"Thank you, keep the change."
Arthur's body was in autopilot from the moment he stepped in the airport till he reached his seat on the plane. He kept glancing over his shoulder, waiting for someone to show up and take him away. He wouldn't be able to fight them. He would never make a scene in public. No, he'd go along quietly, accepting his fate. He'd return to his room, change into proper host attire, and everything would go back to normal. This would just be a vague memory to be locked away with everything else he wanted to forget. The time he almost got free.
Nothing happened.
Arthur took his seat, and put his laptop on his lap. He didn't know what was and wasn't allowed on the plane, and had taken the safe route of leaving any and all sharp objects, including pencils and pens, in England.
He opened a blank document, and let his fingers glide over the keys, barely thinking about what he was writing.
There is little that is more difficult in life than leaving what was once a precious place. The place which is home to those who fed and protected you. There comes a time in everyone's life where they are forced to leave. Whether for better or for worse, making one's own way in the world is more important than comfort. Perhaps one will find that the familiar welcoming atmosphere was a facade for a darker, much more evil establishment. Something meant to rob them of their own ideas, emotions, and personality, for the sake of what is said to be their best interest. In fact, it is often in the best interest of the puppeteer, for a puppet can be replaced. Remade better. Created to be more obedient. Leaving the nest is the only way to break free. Even then, there's still a possibility the strings are still there, just set aside, but ready to be pulled and tugged and manipulated at any moment.
Arthur looked back up at his window, not to keen on analyzing his most recent piece. It wasn't his best, and he almost wanted to burn it. It was much too ominous. Initial false safety giving way to an almost threatening atmosphere was a much too familiar event. It was everything he was hoping to leave behind.