Behold the moment we've all been waiting for. It is time for me to kill off one of the story's protagonists! How often does someone get to say something like that?

Yes, it is time to wrap up this prolonged flashback section by showing the death of Betelgeuse. I've considered a number of different possible methods. Murder, suicide, accidents, natural causes… I had trouble choosing a specific cause of death for him. In regards to my final solution to that problem… Well, you'll just have to wait and find out. Though it will definitely not be pleasant.

So here's a bit of a warning for this chapter, just in case you happen to be of a sensitive nature. There is going to be some bad things in this chapter. I am writing a death scene, after all. So beware of excessive drinking, stupid decisions made while under the influence of alcohol, violence, and possible attempted/successful suicide/murder by the characters (can't completely spoil it yet…). And death. There's definitely death.

Whether by birth, by adoption, or by marriage, every member of this family has been taught about ghosts and the mysteries that surround them. Our knowledge and the artifacts gathered through the generations for centuries have been shared among father, mother, husband, wife, son, and daughter. This is what allowed our family to have a deep understanding of the spirits that linger and the powers that can be used. And one such power that we learned of is the Reality Gauntlet.

-Excerpt from "The Reality Gauntlet and Other Ghostly Myths" by Frederich Isak Showenhower

He shouldn't have thrown it. He wasn't even sure what he'd thrown across the room, but he shouldn't break his belongings. Betelgeuse just couldn't bring himself to care. What did it matter if he destroyed everything? It didn't mean anything anymore. He grabbed another object, a carved spoon, and hurled it hard enough to crack it apart when it hit the far wall. The noise and broken fragment barely registered. He threw the bench next and flipped the table, but they were sturdy enough to survive the action.

How could he have even considered it? How could he be that naïve? He knew better. He knew he didn't have a chance. It was a mistake he should have stopped years ago.

He was smashing and throwing anything within reach. He ignored the damage it did to his hands as he lashed out at the furniture, the walls, and even the valuable loom in the corner. For the moment, it didn't matter to him. Physical pain wasn't important. The anger and frustration with himself was a far better distraction. It kept the hurt away, at least to an extent.

She was right to leave him. Even with everything he tried to accomplish, he was still the same man as before. The son of a useless drunk. The tricky and sneaky heathen. The foul little man scrambling in the dirt for bugs for food. The lecherous fool who chased every woman in sight. The untrustworthy scoundrel. He didn't care what others thought of him, but she would always deserve better than that. She would always deserve better than him.

Betelgeuse found himself without something in reach to break. With no further chance to numb himself with destructive violence, the true emotional fallout of what happened started to hit him. The painful, aching tightness in his chest as he struggled to control his uneven breathing hurt. Not sobs, but something that might easily evolve into them. He needed to deal with it before he felt worse. There had to be a way to handle the increasingly intense misery, heartbreak, and fury with himself.

Staring around the disheveled room, his eyes landed on the barrels and Betelgeuse decided to do something he'd promised himself never to do. He was going to do what his father would. He intended to follow Remfrey's example, as pathetic as it might be.

The first thing he did was shove the table against the door, barricading it closed. He knew that some people could turn violent when drunk and he would never forgive himself if the children wandered in on that. Perhaps they would stay the night with Thibaud and his wife. The pair would certainly make the offer. But if they came home, it would better for them to spend the night in the byre. It was warm, dry, and safe. He wouldn't let them possibly get hurt because he was foolish and miserable.

Stumbling over the pieces of the loom he would certainly regret breaking later, Betelgeuse pulled out the first barrel of his stronger brews of beer. Since his proposal proved to be the worst decision of his life, he might as well add another foolish choice to finish out the day. Time to find out if he inherited his father's skill at drowning all pain and misery with his supply of beer.

Katelin felt divided. Goodman Thibaud and his wife wanted them to stay the night, insisting that traveling back in the dark would be far too dangerous. Henry certainly wanted to accept the offer. Of course, he just wished to stay away from Betelgeuse like always. And she knew it would be wise to stay both because of the reasons the couple stated and because she didn't know how long it would take Betelgeuse to speak to Avelyn. Staying the night should give them all the privacy they could need. So the girl agreed with her brother to remain at least until morning.

And yet for some reason that she couldn't explain, Katelin felt uneasy about her decision. She felt like she should return home, that she was needed there. She felt as if something was wrong.

But surely everything would be all right. Betelgeuse didn't need her. What was the worst that could happen if she stayed?

He'd gone too far. Derrick knew the man was a vile person who shouldn't be allowed near his sister, but Avelyn never listened. She saw good present in the man that simply didn't exist. She refused to see Betelgeuse as he truly was, treating him as a respectful neighbor and even performing favors. Sweet Avelyn did not see that to the foul man she was merely a conquest to be exploited. She did not see the threat. And now Derrick feared Betelgeuse may have gone too far.

Avelyn took a basket of bread out to the foul man's house. That was hours ago. Night had long since fallen and there was still no sign of her. She should have returned long ago. Such a delivery should not have taken long. The only reason Avelyn would've not returned home would be if something kept her. If someone trapped her and wouldn't let her go, using her as he did all women he ensnared. Derrick refused to believe she would do such a thing willingly, so Avelyn needed help. Betelgeuse needed to be stopped.

Derrick told his wife and son to stay in the house as he went out in search of her. Then he sought out Adam and Roger, two very loyal friends. One was a blacksmith and the other was simply built like an ox. Just as Derrick suspected, they agreed to join him once explained his fears. Betelgeuse wouldn't be able to stand against all three of them. He'd be beaten within an inch of his life if he tried. It was long overdue. And if he was doing what Derrick feared, he deserved such a beating and more. Because if he touched Avelyn…

So with fury and hate boiling in his heart, Derrick marched with his friends through the darkness towards the boggy forest. Before the dawn, Betelgeuse would pay for his years of lecherous and disgraceful behavior and for whatever he was doing to poor Avelyn.

It turned out that Betelgeuse wasn't a violent drunk. He wasn't an angry drunk. He also wasn't a friendly or happy drunk. He was a sad drunk, somehow becoming more miserable rather than numb as he drank his stronger beer.

That pretty much matched his usual luck.

He didn't normally drink his stronger brews, so it was hitting him hard. That didn't slow him down. He just kept drinking. There wasn't anything else for him to do. What was the point of restraint? What was the point of trying anything? He couldn't make anything work, at least not for long. Why shouldn't he just keep drinking and forget about his miserable life?

Sitting there among the broken belongings, Betelgeuse couldn't help wondering what he actually had that could be considered good. Normally he didn't care that all the village idiots hated him. But he felt miserable and couldn't help noticing that he kept losing the few people who didn't hate him, one way or another. His parents were dead. Galeren was dead. Avelyn ran away from him in tears at the idea of being with him. At this rate, Katelin would end up dead and Henry would have a real reason to hate him. No matter what he did, he would lose anything of worth. So what was the point?

His thoughts were sluggish, heavy, and scattered. Nausea was starting to hit him as the world seemed to wobble and swirl around him a little. There was something wrong, but he didn't care. He wouldn't stop drinking until he passed out or ran out. And he had several barrels. So he kept drinking as quickly as he could manage.

There was nothing else for him. Betelgeuse felt like he was sinking into a dark abyss of misery, hurt, and loss. No matter how much he drank, Avelyn's rejection hurt. All his fragile hopes were shattered when she ran out the door. There was no point left. Just pain, misery, and eventual death. And that last was beginning to sound almost comforting and a relief from how he felt.

So why wait?

Stumbling and wobbling, Betelgeuse managed to get passed his lack of coordination and fragmented thoughts enough to pursue his drunken decision. After several attempts, he miraculously found himself on his feet. Half-walking and half-falling, he somehow managed to make it across the room. He certainly couldn't remember how he actually accomplished that feat. He needed to keep a hand on the wall to stay upright, but he reached the peg on the wall he kept a few coils of rope.

He didn't have the coordination or focus for the more complicated movements needed for making a noose. A slipknot, however, was simpler. He could do it in his sleep. Which meant there was actually a small chance of managing it while drunk beyond all reason. And what was the difference in the end? A knot was a knot, especially since both could tighten. It still took a few tries, but Betelgeuse finally managed. From there, he nearly fell over in an attempt to throw the length over the rafters above.

Thinking was a challenge. He kept forgetting what he was doing, but his clumsy attempts to secure the rope in place eventually worked. He was left with a loop dangling above his head and only a vague idea why. Swaying on his feet, he shoved the miraculously-intact stool underneath it.

Miserable and drunk, Betelgeuse did the one thing that no one should do in that condition: he made a life-affecting decision that he would never consider while sober. Wobbling, swaying, and struggling to retain consciousness, he somehow managed to step on top of the stool and poke his head through the loop.

He didn't so much jump or kick away the stool as he simply lost his balance finally. The knot instantly tightened and the problem with a slipknot versus a noose instantly became obvious. There was no chance of a quick death by breaking his neck. Kicking his legs uselessly in the air while uncoordinated hands instinctively tried to grasp at the rope, he was slowly and painfully suffocating. No matter how wretched and drunk he might be, there was still a part of his muddled mind that panicked at the pain and pressure around his neck and the lack of air. Even when everything else was confused and uncomprehending, the impulse to survive remained.

But even when spurred into action by the instinctive fear of death, the body could not escape the effects of so much alcohol and the loss of air. Frantic and uncoordinated movements slowed while darkness swallowed his vision. His heartbeat hammered in his ears as awareness tried to slip away. Or perhaps something else caused the hammering sound.

"Betelgeuse, I know my sister is here!" shouted Derrick, pounding his fist. "Open up!"

When no one responded to his call, the man ran out of patience. Avelyn was in trouble. Derrick slammed his shoulder against the door, the impact only knocking it open a few inches. Seeing that it was clearly barricaded and that their friend was desperate, Adam and Roger added their strength to the second try. While it was enough to stop one man, all three was more than the table could handle and the door was flung open.

As he stumbled into the room, Derrick didn't immediately comprehend the scene the fire illuminated in front of him. But the instant he realized what the shape dangling from the rafters truly was, he cursed and reacted without thought.

"Grab him," he ordered, diving towards the rope strangling the man.

Between the three men, they managed to wrestle Betelgeuse out of the rope and the obvious attempt to hang himself. Derrick was absolutely shocked at the idea. He never expected to see the blond man trying to kill himself like that. The pale and clammy skin as the set him back on the ground was a little unnerving, as if he was already partially dead. But regardless of the quickly swelling bruises around his neck and the strong scent of beer that clung to him, Betelgeuse was somehow drawing weak, ragged breaths.

"Derrick," said Adam uneasily. "Avelyn isn't here."

He jerked his head up, the reminder of why they were there shoving aside the shock of walking in on that scene. A quick glance around the room proved that Avelyn wasn't waiting for a rescue. That realization somehow made him feel worse. It was, however, clear something bad happened before the near death of the man. The room was a mess, as if there was a struggle. Something certainly broke the furniture and belongings. Then Derrick spotted something that left him cold.

Lying on the floor, surrounded by half-crushed loaves of bread, was Avelyn's basket. Derrick would recognize it anywhere. She always kept the ribbon tied to it when it wasn't in her hair. And she adored her red ribbon too much to leave it behind without reason.

Signs of violence in the room. His sister's basket was present, but not Avelyn. And something caused Betelgeuse to nearly hang himself. Derrick's mind could only come up with very few possibilities to explain such a thing.

"Adam. Roger. I think you should leave," he said tensely. "I don't think you will want to be involved with what happens next. I can handle this on my own."

"Are you certain?" asked Roger uneasily, glancing between Derrick and the wheezing, semi-conscious man on the floor.

He nodded, "Thank you for coming to help me, but you can go home. I know what I'm doing."

They hesitated, but Derrick could see that they trusted him. He waited as they left the house. He waited, giving his friends time to head back along the faint and twisting path. He waited as his fury and hatred built higher and higher. Once he was reasonably sure that they wouldn't come back, Derrick grabbed Betelgeuse by the shoulders, hauled him semi-upright, and slammed him against the wall.

"Where is she?" Derrick snarled desperately. "What did you do with Avelyn?"

Eyes unfocused and struggling to breathe through the swelling damage to his throat, the man wheezed in a rough voice, "Gone… Shouldn't have…"

His gravelly and rough voice trailed off as his weak grasp on awareness slipped away, his eyes closing and leaving Derrick staring in horrified fury. No… That foul, evil, loathsome man… Derrick could see it so clearly now. He knew what must have happened.

Betelgeuse must have tried to do something to her, something he wanted and Avelyn refused. He must have attacked her, trying to force her. There was a struggle. And now she was gone… He must have killed her on accident and hid the body. And then in some tiny corner of his shriveled black heart, he felt guilty about his actions. Or more likely feared what true justice would be like for him when the rest of the village learned of his crime. He tried to hang himself, either because he felt bad for harming her or fear of a worse death.

It explained everything. But it also meant that his sweet sister, Avelyn was dead. Betelgeuse killed her.

He let go of the clearly-drunk, half-dead, vile excuse for a man. Betelgeuse had gone too far. Derrick was happy they stopped his suicide attempt, but not for the same reason as before. Death by strangulation was too good for him.

He punched the unconscious man in the face, ignoring the sharp pain in his hand as he broke the murderer's nose. If the man had been awake, he would have been in pain at the impact and bruises started to form from the damage. But it wasn't enough. He knew his fists wouldn't be enough to satisfy his need for revenge. Blinking back tears of fury, Derrick looked around the room for something better.

He searched through the broken fragment and wretched open the chest, searching for something better. He didn't know exactly what he needed, but Derrick kept looking. Then he found it.

Grabbing the man's hammer, Derrick gave a few practice swings. It was a strong and solid tool. He could tell it served its purpose well, building and repairing. It couldn't fix this, however. It couldn't bring Avelyn back. But it could help him make the man pay for what happened. He could send the evil serpent where he belonged.

"This is for my sister, you heartless monster," he said sharply, swinging the hammer as hard as he could into the man's stomach.

The impact caused the unconscious figure to expel the vast amounts of alcoholic liquid, gasping and choking past the painful hit, the vomited beer, and the damaged throat. Derrick, thinking about how he would never see Avelyn again, didn't care. He kicked the man sharply before taking another swing.

Again and again, he swung the hammer. He didn't think of it like he was brutally and viciously beating someone. He approached it like he was chopping wood, digging a hole, or working in the field. It was simply a series of repetitive and forceful motions that needed to be performed. He swung the hammer, striking at the chest and stomach. Derrick didn't flinch at the soft, wet sounds of the man's weakening gasps that were partially choked with blood nor the cracking sensation he felt through his arms as his strikes broke ribs. He just kept thinking about his sister.

Finally, Derrick stopped and stared at the pitiful, dying creature on the ground. Dying, but not yet dead. Between the damage to this throat from the attempted hanging and the blood he was too weak to proper cough out of his mouth, the venomous reptile could barely draw breath. But the man was still stubbornly clinging to life. He never did know when he wasn't wanted around.

Grabbing the battered and beaten figure, Derrick wrestled him onto his back and shoulders until he could support the limp weight. He could have finished him off with another strike of the hammer, specifically to the head, but Derrick wouldn't give it to him. If the wretched man was going to die, it would be slow and without ever having a proper burial. For what he did to Avelyn, he deserved to be forgotten and ignored. Who would mourn him anyway?

Using a torch from the fire to light his way, Derrick carried the heavy burden deeper and deeper into the boggy forest. He wandered further and further into the marshy and dark depths, unable to even catch a glimpse of the stars above. He ignored the slow, pained, choking wheezing of the man on his back and the blood dripping from his mouth. Derrick needed to concentrate on the muck that was swiftly reaching up to his knees. The mud became diluted by boggy and algae-filled water, indicating he'd reached the lowest-resting and deepest part of the marshy forest.

"I hope you die slowly," said Derrick, addressing the unconscious man on his back as he sloshed through the murky liquid. "I hope you suffer for all eternity for what you've done. I hope you never find forgiveness for your sins, even in death. I hope you remain trapped and lost, wandering aimlessly with the burden of your evil."

He knew it was possible. His family knew that not all souls went where they should and some lingered long after they perished. It was part of his family's tradition of being wisemen and wisewomen, along with herb lore and astrology. His mother ensured he knew of such things before her demise, giving her children the knowledge and tools to handle such lost spirits. So when Derrick hoped the cruel and heartless man would wander the world with no chance to find relief or mercy in death, he truly meant it.

Once he was certain that he was far enough that no one would ever find the venomous serpent, Derrick shrugged his burden off. The unconscious man did not immediately sink out of sight into the thick, murky, marshy water. It was a slower and gradual process, one that would take time. Enough of the man floated above the surface that he would not immediately drown. Derrick didn't mind. He would either slip beneath the water eventually or die from what had already been done. Regardless, he would not survive.

"Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse," he said mockingly, practically spitting on the dying man. "You thought you could always escape from the consequences of your actions. But for what happened to Avelyn, you will not. Be gone from our lives. May you rot alone, forgotten, and unwanted."

He then turned and began to make his way towards home, not even thinking about looking back. He wasn't going to spare any sympathy for the monster.

Barely able to breathe through the swelling of a partial hanging and the blood of severe internal injuries to so many organs, he floated in the dark and algae-stained water. Betelgeuse did not stir, he did not move, and he did not wake. The damage was already done.

Far too much alcohol flowed through his veins, poisoning him. Far too cold water swallowed his injured body, weakening him. Far too many broken bones and battered organs suffered, drowning him in blood. Far too much swelling remained from a rope after the knot was removed, choking him. He did not feel the pain of what he was tormented with, but it did not prevent him from succumbing.

In the shadows and boggy forest, without another living soul to comfort or bear witness, the inevitable occurred. The ragged, labored, wheezing of a dying man grew silent and a broken heart grew still. And so the life of Betelgeuse came to an end.

Though there was little way to tell if the cause should be called suicide, murder, accident, or all of them. Even the dead could not say for certain.

He was in the forest and he wasn't sure how. He didn't remember leaving his house. He had scattered memories of rejection, misery and heartache, a rope, someone shouting questions at him, and pain beyond description, but he wasn't certain what it meant. But aside from his confusion on how he ended up in the forest, his mind felt clear and he felt no pain. A slight chill, but no pain.

And he certainly didn't feel drunk anymore.

As soon as he took a step, he felt his foot hit something. A quick glance demonstrated that the situation was even more peculiar than he originally believed. Bound books were rare and expensive, so how could he find one in the boggy forest? He couldn't read, but he knew the value of such an object. He reached for the book.

"I am not certain why they even bother providing a copy to those who cannot read," a voice said abruptly, startling him. "They have to instruct them aloud anyway, so there is no proper reason to provide a book of the same rules."

He turned, spotting the speaker. A brunette woman in a fine and expensive gown, dyed a brilliant shade of purple, was standing in the shadows. She was certainly rich and probably titled, cloth of such a tint far too expensive for anyone of lesser standing. She was a sickly pale color with dark stains around her mouth. She held a few sheets of parchment in her hands that she was clearly reading with only a slight amount of interest.

"Who are you? What is a woman of your standing doing in such a place?" he asked suspiciously.

"You may call me 'Elizabeth'," said the woman. "You are quite fortunate that even your records are uncertain if your attempt at suicide is what killed you. If not, you would be working alongside me. Poison was far more efficient and obvious in my situation, so I did not have any choice."

He frowned at her words. Part of him wanted to deny or accuse her of lying. But another part of him realized she was right. He could feel it, the sense that something was wrong. There was something different about him deep inside and that the rest of the world felt slightly off now in comparison. There was a silence and stillness that seemed unnatural that prompted him to briefly touch his chest, confirming that the steady beat of his heart was gone. But there was something else, something that felt powerful... Still, he couldn't deny the truth.

He died. He was dead and rather than the promised eternal suffering or eternal reward, he ended up in the forest that surrounded his home with a strange woman of wealth. Unless this was an unusual form of judgment, it was nothing close to what he expected from death.

He didn't know where to start. The idea that he was dead and yet he was still standing around somehow didn't seem possible. So many thoughts raced through his mind. He had questions, far more than he knew how to handle.

On the other hand, there was a beautiful woman in front of him and he did know how to handle that. Besides, he needed a distraction from… everything. His life, his death, what would happen to Galeren's children now, what would happen to him now, Avelyn… He briefly touched the ring around his neck. No, a distraction would be good. Focus on the woman. He could handle that much.

"Well, Elizabeth, I'm not certain that working alongside you would be so unfortunate," he said with a smirk. "I am—"

He stopped, struggling to speak as he gagged on the word. He tried again and again, growing more confused and frustrated with each attempt. But he couldn't do it. He could not say it, regardless of how hard he tried. His tongue, his throat, and his voice just locked up and choked him.

He couldn't say his name.

"What's wrong with me?" he asked, his voice and throat relaxing the moment he tried something else. "Why can't I say my name anymore? Why can't I say—?"

Elizabeth frowned as he struggled against the gagging sensation of his voice rebelling against him. She looked at her sheets of parchment again, her expression growing more serious and grim the further she read.

"Oh dear," said the woman. "I did not expect to be dealing with a poltergeist. And from what I'm reading about your limitations, you are a particularly powerful one. In fact, I do not know if we have records of anyone matching your levels of… Oh dear, this could certainly be a problem. Why would they ask me to speak with you? Could someone else have provided a proper orientation? Someone more experienced?"

"What does that mean?"

Looking back up at him, she said, "It means that I have to take extreme care to ensure that you understand the rules. Otherwise you could cause everyone a great many problems out of ignorance of both the rules and what you are capable of. I believe that you should come with me back for a proper discussion. There are a great many rules you need to be made aware of and I need to look over your unique restrictions in more detail." She looked back at the parchment with her nervous and serious expression. "Oh dear, how am I supposed to handle a poltergeist of this magnitude? I cannot wait to move on in a century. It would be far less upsetting for me to deal with."

He still did not understand much about what was happening, but he had heard a few key phrases that were important. She was supposed to teach him some rules, which were probably what the strange book was about. One of the rules might have to deal with the reason why he could not say his name. But if there were rules, there were almost certainly ways around them. Loopholes, exceptions, and other tricks around the restrictions had to exist. And if he knew what the rules were exactly, he could start finding ways to use them. He could find ways to make things work for him.

He didn't know what to expect in the future, but he knew the importance of finding ways around problems to get what he needed. It was something familiar. And among all the strangeness, he needed something familiar. He wouldn't let being dead slow him down for long. By the time he was finished, all their rules would be working to his advantage.

"Very well, Elizabeth," he said, drawing her out of her upset muttering. "Where are we going?"

"First, there is a room where you can wait until I can discuss this with someone higher up," said the woman. "It should not take too long, relatively speaking."

By the time Derrick made it back to the village, some of the enormity of what happened began to dawn on him. Avelyn was dead. His sister was dead and he was coated in the muck from the boggy forest that surrounded Betelgeuse's house. There would be no hiding this news. How would he explain this to Evette? His wife adored Avelyn, treating her like a sister herself. He'd failed his duties as the man of the family so badly.

With a heavy heart, he pushed open the door to his home. He opened his mouth to deliver the devastating news, but his voice died away as he looked at who awaited him.

Sitting by the fire, her dress stained by the same type of mud that clung to him, was Avelyn. Alive and whole, his sister was talking with Evette before glancing in his direction. She looked at him questioningly, but did not rise from her seat.

Shock hit him first. Pure and utter shock engulfed him. Then joy flooded his body, making Derrick smile without realizing it. His sister was alive. She was safe and alive. He crossed the distance between them, hugging the young woman tightly.

"Avelyn, you're all right," he said with intense relief.

"Of course I am," said Avelyn. "I didn't mean to worry you. I am so sorry."

Relaxing his hold just enough to look her in the eye, he said, "What happened to you? I feared the worst."

"It was foolish. I didn't pay attention to where I was going and strayed off the path in the dark. I became a little lost in that marshy forest and actual became stuck in the mud at one point." She gestured towards her dress. "I finally got free and found my way back out. I suppose you were out looking for me, judging by the state of your clothes. I truly did not mean to worry everyone."

"I'm just glad you're safe," said Derrick. "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you."

"She didn't tell you the more surprising news yet," Evette said. "I still think that she shouldn't do it."

Shaking her head at her sister-in-law, Avelyn said, "Please don't be like that. If he accepts my apology tomorrow, you will need to learn to get along with him."

"What are you talking about?" asked Derrick.

"Betelgeuse," she said.

The joy and relief at his sister's return abruptly gave way to horror. Avelyn was alive. She was alive and unharmed. All his fears and assumptions were false. Betelgeuse didn't kill her. He didn't hurt her. The man didn't do anything to her.

Mistaking the cause of his expression, she continued with a look of regret, "I know you don't like him, Derrick. But I need to go apologize to him tomorrow morning. He asked me something this evening, something that surprised me. And I reacted badly. That's why I didn't pay attention and became lost in the forest on the way home. But I've had time to calm down and think about his question since then. He's a good man and he's always made me happy. And I know you want me to be happy and taken care of, Derrick."

"He asked Avelyn if she would consider marrying him," Evette said.

"I panicked at first and I regret that," said Avelyn. "So if he will accept my apology tomorrow and still wishes it, I believe that I would like to accept his proposal. And if you love me, you will give him permission."

Derrick couldn't respond. He was struggling to keep the horror and guilt from his expression. Betelgeuse didn't kill Avelyn. He proposed to her. And tried to hang himself when she didn't accept. Derrick hadn't killed a murderer in an act of justice and revenge for his sister. He'd murdered an innocent man. He never liked Betelgeuse and no one else in the village did, but that was not a reason to kill him. Except that was exactly what Derrick had done, as cruel and brutally as possible.

He murdered Betelgeuse for no reason and left him to rot.

"Derrick?" said Avelyn.

Regardless of his crimes, he could not tell anyone. He could not let them know what he did. There was no way to change his actions, so he would simply have to make certain that no one would ever learn the truth.

Adopting an expression of reluctance, he said, "If this is what you truly wish, who am I to stand in the way of your happiness? We will go together tomorrow to speak with him. If he can prove himself worthy of being your husband, I will give him permission to marry you."

Smiling at her brother, Avelyn hugged him and thanked him for the decision. And with that particular piece of news shared, the family prepared to finally join young Nicholas in sleep. Though Derrick wondered how much sleep he would be able to gain with the horror and guilt of what he done.

In the morning, two groups of siblings returned to the empty house in the boggy forest. Katelin, Henry, and Avelyn were confused by the absence of Betelgeuse while Derrick feigned such a reaction. Hours passed and word spread, even those who generally ignored the man's existence growing curious about the disappearance. By nightfall, no one could deny that he was missing.

No one ever found Betelgeuse. Most assumed that he simply abandoned the house, heading out into the world in search of a better life in the city. It would fit with the generally-low opinion most held for him. Henry especially did not seem surprised that the man who promised to protect the children of Galeren would abandon that responsibility without hesitation or warning. And Avelyn blamed herself, wondering if her rejection drove him to flee in return. When he remained gone for a year and a day, everyone knew the serf would have gained his freedom from the lord of the manor and did not owe a thing to anyone. They knew he would never return.

Roger and Adam knew that Derrick was the last person to see the suicidal Betelgeuse before he "disappeared." And they certainly held some doubts in the back of their mind. But between their loyalty to Derrick, their faith that their friend could never cross the line to murder, the general distrust and dislike of Betelgeuse, the lack of a body ever being found, and a large dose of stubborn denial, they managed to mostly convince themselves that either Betelgeuse managed to slip away and finish what he started with the rope or Derrick chased him away from the fief to keep him away from Avelyn. Anytime that Roger or Adam started wondering "what if" in regards to a more sinister possible fate, they just reminded themselves that Derrick wouldn't actually kill anyone. Not even Betelgeuse.

To ease the guilt of the senseless murder, Derrick insisted that Katelin and Henry remain in his household and under their care. Henry accepted the offer happily, but his sister held reservations. She was suspicious of the man, having faith in Betelgeuse when most others did not. A deep fear remained with her for the rest of her days that Derrick was responsible for the disappearance. But she still stayed in the household, preferring Avelyn's company and growing close to Nicholas. It was not the boy's fault she did not trust his father.

Katelin learned the arts of being a wisewoman, of the herbs that could heal and hurt, of the spirits of the dead that could linger to bother the living, and of the strange objects from distant lands that Avelyn's ancestors brought that were kept locked away. And when she grew older and married Nicholas, truly becoming a member of the family, she still had faith that Betelgeuse did not abandon her intentionally. She knew he was lost to her, but she knew that someone else took him.

The poltergeist lost time in the Netherworld, learning the rules and loopholes that bound ghosts. He learned his restrictions and the ways around such things. He began to learn to read and write, providing other methods to share his name among at least those who were educated. And then he learned too late that time flowed differently between the land of the living and that of the dead, finally returning to the village after three years had slipped away.

The great pestilence that once claimed so many lives made it easier for those who survived to move to other places, to seek out new fiefs and towns rather than remain bound to a single stretch of land for their entire lives. The poltergeist returned too late and the children he promised to watch over had moved on with their new guardians, his murderer unable to remain any longer. And, though he searched, he could not find them. With nothing else to hold him, the Ghost With The Most became a free spirit that sought only to do whatever pleased him with no further responsibilities or hesitation.

The family continued to collect knowledge and objects. Throughout the generations, they gathered and learned all they could. They grew less concerned with herb lore and astrology, but they remembered and recorded all they could about the dead who lingered behind, about ghosts of all types. And when it became more usual for a family to share a surname, they became known as the Showenhower family. Some became entertainers and some became criminals.

And one child of the long bloodline eventually encountered a pair of spirits named Adam and Barbara Maitland in a haunted house, befriended a poltergeist that everyone feared, and met a boy who was half-ghost.

So there are two major morals to this particular chapter. If you plan to drink, don't overdo it and definitely don't make important decisions while under the influence. Drinking does not solve your problems and can even make them worse if you aren't careful. And second, don't automatically assume the worst when you don't have all the facts and start taking drastic action. A lot of pain and suffering could have been avoided.

And with that public service out of the way, it is about time to discuss the big event of this chapter. Betelgeuse is dead. His appearance in the movie did make it difficult to determine what happened to him, but I tried to devise methods to either explain his appearance or at least didn't contradict it. A broken nose can cause bruising around the eyes that would look similar to the dark circles around his. Pale skin that is nearly white or bluish could be explained by a combination of the lack of oxygen from his incomplete hanging and acute alcohol poisoning. The greenish tint to his hair and the mold can be explained by him being tossed in the boggy and marshy water to die. And the lack of obvious external wounds (cuts, slashes, dismemberment, etc.) does not mean there weren't internal injuries. Finally, apparently the creators originally intended for Betelgeuse to have drunkenly tried to hang himself over a girl and messed up on it so that he painfully strangled himself (which adds a bit of subtext to the scene in the film where Lydia is talking to him about how she wants to be a ghost too). I just chose to do more with it.

Though whether the cause of death was due to lack of air because of the damage to his throat from his attempted hanging, alcohol poisoning, internal bleeding, eventual drowning in the marshy area he was tossed, or all of the above is a bit difficult to tell. Because chances are any of them could have killed him, especially combined together like that. It was just a question of which one managed to do it first.

Yes, alcohol poisoning was one of the things killing him. Signs of such a thing include (but are not limited to) severe confusion, unpredictable behavior and stupor, sudden lapses into and out of unconsciousness or semi-consciousness, vomiting while unconscious or semi-conscious (though that was partially due to be hit in the stomach by a hammer), respiratory depression (assisted by near-strangulation), and pale, bluish, cold and clammy skin due to insufficient oxygen. So if you have a friend who has been drinking a lot very quickly and starts demonstrating these symptoms, there may be a problem. And now you know.

So Katelin married Avelyn's nephew, making them both part of the same family. A family that just so happens to be the Showenhower family. And that means that if you follow it down enough generations, Galeren's children (and the guy who at least had a hand in Betelgeuse's death) were the ancestors of Lydia. Of course, Betelgeuse isn't actually aware of that fact, but it certainly makes his protectiveness of Lydia in the present time a bit more interesting.

Once again, go and buy my book. There's a link on my profile, but it is currently not working for some reason. So just go to Amazon and look up "Dead Man Walking" by A.R. Jones. You can't miss it. You can buy it for the Kindle or download the Kindle app thing for your smartphone. You can probably even download it on your iPad or other computer things. Just go out and support my original piece of fiction, please.

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