Disclaimer: I still own nothing.
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ANNIVERSARY
Chapter 11 Steel
Caleb Nichol sat alone, in his castle, absently rolling an empty tumbler from hand to hand. In another time, another climate, he might be staring into the dancing flames of an open fireplace. As it was, he watched leaves shake in the darkness on the other side of the picture window, one of the features of his mansion.
It had been a long and difficult year for the Newport Group. Early tragedy and a federal investigation, the collapse of Kirsten Cohen she was drinking, you know, but they had come through.
The Newport Group was stronger then it had been in years. New developments sprouted up and down the coastline. Luxury homes, businesses that catered to the elite, and a few low-income complexes for the good publicity.
And he was alone, in an empty room, with an empty glass.
And a ghost.
Reflected in the light from the now-open door was a familiar shade. Not Julie, come to offer a refill or something warmer, and not Marissa with her familiar refrain, "Can I have some more money?"
Just a pale face, surrounded by dark curls. And he couldn't see the boy's eyes, but then, he never could.
"You're here alone tonight."
Caleb didn't expect a response. Usually the shade just watched him, silently, until he tossed out of sleep and back into a dark, cold bedroom.
"I half expected to see the other one with you."
"Someone had to talk to Julie."
"And why would someone need to do that?"
"The dead can't rest, Grandpa. Something has to be done about that."
"There's nothing to be done. The investigation dried up and there's no way to bring them back. No matter how much I wish I could."
Those last words were muttered, and if Caleb Nichol were pressed, he would never admit to saying them at all.
"This is the first time you've spoken to me, Seth."
"We never talked much when I was alive, why start now?"
"Is this going to turn into some sort of Christmas Carol? Shouldn't you be wearing chains and warning me about three more ghosts?"
"I never forged any chains in life. I didn't have time. And you don't need to see any more ghosts. Not now. It would be too late, anyway."
Caleb set his glass down on the floor, eyes tightening at the corners as he stretched. Straightening back up, he rubbed absently at his shoulder.
"You don't look so good, Grandpa."
"I don't feel so good, Seth. So, if you're not here to warn me, why are you here?"
"I'm talking to you for the same reason I've spoken to everyone else tonight. I have some questions."
"Shoot. Oh, I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me. But then again, you're not really here." He sighed. "What was that line, 'You're nothing but a bit of cheese, or mustard. There is more of gravy than of grave about you.' Still, what does it matter. Go on, spirit. Ask your questions."
"I really only have one."
Seth stepped further into the room, setting his hand on the back of the chair.
"Why did you kill us?"
Caleb pushed himself out of the leather wingback an away, towards the window. Still facing away from Seth, he said, "I didn't kill you. No matter what I've done in my life, I've never killed anyone."
Seth laughed, "You know, in a sense, I believe you. There is no blood on your hands. You've never fired a gun, or held a knife in anger. In fact, I don't think you've ever even raised a hand in anger.
You're all bluster. Storming words and a red face."
Caleb's face, reddening at these words, became darker, and his hand, wrapped around the neck of a cut-crystal decanter, tightened.
"You talk, Grandpa. And you pay people to listen.
I spoke to AJ. He said he was paid to do the job he did. To kill us."
"Not to kill you. Never kill. Just… Just to discourage the boy. Keep him where he belonged. You weren't even supposed to be there. Why were you there?"
The last words were quiet, pleading.
"Too little, too late, Grandpa. We're already dead. Your regrets do nothing to mitigate that situation. You paid the man that took our lives, and through that action, you killed us."
Caleb clutched at his shoulder again, decanter abandoned, glugging it's contents onto the polished silver tray.
"I suppose I was lucky. Two bullets and I bled my life away on the grass. Ryan had to suffer.
You're not a bad person."
Caleb nodded, silent.
"You just wanted to protect your family."
The man nodded again.
"I wasn't even supposed to be there."
A nod, weaker this time.
"But someone knew. Someone knew about your plan, knew I would be with Ryan. And that person wanted me dead. But you gave them the way in. You planted the seed of my death.
You killed your family."
Caleb was silent. The room, never loud as Seth had kept his voice down, echoed with his last words.
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Interesting fact- Chapter 11 was written in the vestibule of our family church while the rest of the clan attended Christmas mass. I, however, am a conscientious objector.
Happy Holidays.
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