Between a busy week and not feeling very well, this felt like it took forever to get out - although in reality it's been about a week. It's amazing to think this is the penultimate chapter!
A Long Night
It was a long drive to the Kirkland house, nestled in the suburbs on the other side of the city to Hetalia. The address had been accidentally left on the boxes of Arthurs effects handed over to them by the police after the search, but with Vash having such a passive-aggressive temper it's hard to say if it was really an accident. Francis thought about the plot of the story as he drove – some of it was fantasy, like the ghost of the dead man haunting the garden where the garage used to be, but a distressing amount was true to life, even down to the way their mother used to cook their toast in the morning. It wasn't just a story – it was Arthurs soul laid bare.
And if Francis could figure it out, so could others. He – as 'Frankie' – had come out rather well in the story, but others not so much (including Ivan and Gilbert, who both came across as being a little crazy). At least Antonio wasn't one for reading, or he'd completely lose his temper over the downright personal details of the story, but Gilbert, Lizzie and Matthew would certainly get to the end. In the manuscript it mentioned a lot of things that Arthur himself gave no inclination to having actually picked up, including Francis' anger and disappointment with his mother, Ivans terror at becoming just like his father, and a somewhat disturbing undertone of incest in the twins relationship (concerning enough that Francis was going to have a little chat with Alfred when he got home).
The street the Kirkland house was on was, disturbingly, exactly as it was described in the manuscript, from the zebra crossing with the dented post beside the play park to the house painted in multicoloured daisies with an impressive pirate-ship tree house. Angus' house was what one would expect of even a half decent architect, all sharp lines and glass and perfectly manicured topiaries on the drive. The gate to the gravel drive lay open as if they had been expecting him, the motion sensitive light clicking on as he parked at the front door.
Francis knew it was late, but he didn't care. This was the very least those people owed him, after the pain and unknowing of the last 8 years. After locking his car, he marched up to the smart front door and rang the bell. When it wasn't answered in 30 seconds, he rang again. After another 30 seconds, he kept his finger on the bell. After another 30 seconds of continuous ringing, furious marching footsteps could be heard inside the house, the light in the foyer being turned on to the sound of swears and curses. Francis kept his finger on the button as he heard the door being unlocked.
"THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, YOU FUCKING CU-"
Angus ceased his screaming as he saw Francis, finger still on the button, pulling a face that mirrored his own. With a huff, he slapped Francis' hand away from the doorbell.
"Do you mind?" he complained "My son is trying to sleep."
"Dad?" a sleepy voice called.
Francis glanced into the house – the little boy had appeared atr eh bottom of the stairs. Peter looked just like his mother, with his bright blue eyes and light blond hair. He was still little for his age, but that was to be expected. Francis felt a little guilty for waking the child as he rubbed his eyes.
"Go back to bed, Peter." Angus told him gently "There's nothing to worry about."
"Who's that man?" he asked "What time is it?"
Angus shot Francis a healthy glare before turning his back on him, picking up his half-sleeping son and carrying him back up the stairs. Patrick had appeared, looking decidedly unwell, at the top, standing aside as Angus approached. He took his older brothers place at the door.
"Francis, what do you want?" he asked, sounding more concerned than annoyed "It's one thirty in the morning, for crying out loud."
Francis resisted every urge not to punch Patrick in the face – it was bad manners to punch a sick man – but couldn't stop himself clenching his hands into fists.
"I've had the rare pleasure of reading a manuscript before publication." the stylist informed the doctor.
"Is that it?" Patrick moaned "Piss off, will you?"
Patrick went to close the door, but Francis slammed it back open, startling the smaller man significantly. He leapt back like he expected Francis to attack him, raising his arms defensively.
"It was Arthurs manuscript." Francis elaborated "He decided he wanted to write a story for adults. It's good too, scary as fuck. Very suspenseful. You want to know what it's about?"
Patrick just looked at him, eyes searching his face like he trying to figure out if Francis had gone crazy.
"It's a murder mystery." Francis went on, coming into the house and closing the door "There's this family that's a complete shambles – the father's an abusive joke, the step-mother's vain and self-centred and all the brothers hate each other. One day the father turns up dead, and everyone's a suspect. Turns out it was the son he used to pick on, off his head on drugs given to him by his doctor brother. His older brothers cover it up, hide the body and keep the younger brother drugged for nearly a decade."
Patricks green eyes had gone wide, already pale face deathly white as he physically backed away from the encroaching Francis.
"Sound familiar?" he finished.
Hearing Peter and Angus still shuffling about upstairs, Patrick took a glance heavenward, but no angels came to rescue him from Francis. The doctor grabbed his arm and pulled him through the kitchen and into the annex behind. While the house was very nice, it was very obviously a mans house – lots of stuff but nothing pretty to look at – while the annex was quite clearly inhabited by a woman, or had been until very recently.
"This is Anyas?" Francis asked.
"It was." Patrick confirmed, closing the door to the house behind him "She quit – said something about her family. She was bloody good at her job, and on top of everything else we really didn't need this hassle. We're trying to woo her back, but it's not working out well."
The men regarded each other seriously, Patrick with his back to the door.
"So," he said "Arthur remembers?"
"Yes and no." Francis admitted "He thinks it's just a story he's written – he hasn't figured out his story is true to life."
"Genius idiot." Patrick muttered "Shit."
He covered his mouth with his palm, starting to breathe deeply. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
"I had the dose wrong." he admitted "It was too strong. He had no idea what he had done – five minutes later he was playing with Peter like nothing was wrong. I tried taking him off the pills, but he started to remember... I had to keep him medicated. It took me years to get it right."
"You're not even going to deny it?" Francis asked.
"I don't see the point." Patrick said bluntly "We both know what we're talking about."
"Arthur killed his father, and you and Angus covered it up." Francis summarised.
"You would have done the same." he guaranteed "After all that man made him suffer, to send him to prison as well..." he sighed, crossing his arms in his upset "It was supposed to be Arthurs fresh start, his new life away from all the shit that happened before. Then that man had to show up."
Patricks eyes went far away, like he was reviewing the events of long ago. Francis stayed patient.
"I don't even blame Arthur for what happened. That man made his life a misery for so long... I might have killed him if the situation was reversed. I wasn't going to let that man ruin Arthurs life again... You understand, don't you?"
He did understand. If he had to choose between Arthur and Henry, Arthur won every time.
"Owen has no idea." Patrick admitted "The first he heard about that man being dead was when the police came by the other day."
"You kept it from him?"
"He can't keep a secret." the older brother knew "Especially not an important one. He showed up like five minutes later, so we had to hide the weapon... In the end, we completely forgot it was there. We cleared out everything, got rid of the car. That lake had just been dredged to clean it, so we knew the bottom was deep and it wouldn't be found for a while."
He sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck.
"You know, blood doesn't come out of concrete? Angus tore up the garage with his own hands. We had everything under control."
"By drugging Arthur to the point that he had no idea what was going on?" Francis interjected.
"He would have gone to the police!"
"He killed a man!"
"He's not responsible!" Patrick insisted "Under the drugs he was on, he's not liable-!"
"Then why not let him go to the police?" Francis argued "If he wasn't liable for his actions, why not let him confess? Rather than make Swiss cheese of his brain for nearly a decade?"
Patrick grimaced, grossing his arms again and looking away. It clicked in Francis' head.
"Because you were liable." he figured out "You gave him the drugs, without his knowledge or consent. Arthur would have been sent to hospital for a while, but you would been sent to prison!"
"It wasn't about me!" the doctor objected "Contrary to what the media would have you believe, getting revenge on your abuser isn't the catharsis you think it is! How do you think Arthur would feel to know he killed a man? That he killed his own father? You think he'd honestly be okay with that, just get on with his life? 'Looks like I killed a man, oh well, time to make dinner.'"
"Don't be a dick." Francis spat "You did this for your own sake, not his!"
"That's not true!" Patrick cried, voice breaking "Everything I've done has been for Arthur's sake! For nearly 10 years every single thing I've done has been for him!"
"His brain is Swiss cheese!" Francis repeated "He has massive holes in his memory, even from his childhood! That's not even mentioning the damage those pills did to his stomach and intestines!"
"That wouldn't have happened if he hadn't stopped taking them!"
"Oh, so they were perfectly safe as long as he took them for the rest of his life?" Francis spat "He'll never be able to eat spicy foods, nuts, or even crisps for the rest of his life! He'll never be able to stop taking what the doctors have given him, just to stop his guts from rotting!"
"There are always side effects to medication." Patrick said, as if it was a valid response.
"You're a piece of shit."
"I did what I had to to keep him safe!"
"You did what you had to to keep yourself safe!"
Patrick opened his mouth to argue, but was jolted from the back as the door to the house opened behind him. Angus almost slammed it shut as he joined them.
"What the actual fuck?" he spat "This had better be fucking important!"
"Arthurs memory is coming back." Patrick told him, clutching his stomach as if it hurt "He wrote about what happened in his new story."
Angus grimaced. His eyes darted about as he thought. With a sigh, he turned to Patrick.
"Okay." he said "Go back to bed."
"What?" Patrick almost laughed.
"I'll handle it." Angus promised "You're already making yourself sick with this, I don't want you getting worse. Go back to bed and let me deal with Francis."
Patrick opened his mouth to argue again, but seemed to think better of it. Frowning, he took a final look at Francis before going back into the house. Angus sighed again, turning to his former brother.
"You say it's in his manuscript?" he asked "Has he given any indication that he actually remembers?"
"Not a whisper." Francis admitted.
"Then if you care about him at all, you'll delete the manuscript." Angus instructed "And any copies he's stashed anywhere. There's no evidence linking him to what happened, and with his confession gone there'll be nothing to worry about."
"Just like that?" Francis asked in disbelief "Just like that it all goes away?"
"Yes, it does." Angus knew "There's not enough evidence for the police to act. I know you care about Arthur – you don't want to see him go to prison. Despite what Patrick says, a jury may find him liable. Patrick and I are accessories, so we'll go away as well. Peter will probably be put into care..."
His face flashed with a genuine devastation, imagining what could hypothetically happen to his son, and Francis could understand his concern. He quickly came back to his senses.
"No-one's crying over that mans death." he pointed out coldly "But if Arthur goes down, a lot of people will go with him. You think Alfred and Matthew are going to be able to handle the fact that their brother killed their father?"
Fuck, Francis couldn't argue with that logic. If Arthur went to prison, after how hard everyone had worked to restore the status quo upon his return, a lot of people wouldn't be able to handle it. God only knows how the twins would go off the rails, or what Ivan would do to himself. Angus picked up on his silent agreement.
"I understand you're shocked." he sympathised "We were as well at first, but we've had time since then."
Angus sighed, clearly tired, and opened the door to the house, gesturing Francis out.
"We're going to keep quiet, as planned." he reported "The evidence is limited, and with no word from us they won't be able to take it further."
"So you're just going to ignore it and hope it goes away?" Francis asked incredulously.
"Exactly." Angus answered "As long as Arthur doesn't remember, there's nothing for us to worry about. If you won't convince Arthur to come home, the least you can do is keep quiet about the truth around him."
"And now that I know?" Francis challenged.
"That's up to you." he replied simply "You can tell the police what happened, and we'll all go to prison, or you can keep your mouth shut and go on with life as usual. Your choice."
"Daddy, where did you go last night?" Michelle asked, sat at the kitchen table with her colouring book "I woke up 'cos I had a bad dream, but you weren't there."
"Oh, someone broke into the salon, Daddy had to go to talk to the police." he lied.
"Oh my god!" Matthew exclaimed, nearly dropping the whole bottle of syrup on his waffles "Is everything okay? Did they get away with much?"
"Luckily no." Francis elaborated "Almost no-one pays in cash these days, and hair-dressing equipment isn't exactly easy to fence, so the worst damage was a broken window. The insurance will pay for it."
"Thank goodness!" Matthew sighed "That could have been awful."
"Did the police catch him?" Michelle asked.
"We will!" Alfred assured her, giving her the thumbs up.
Being the weekend, Michelle and the boys loitered with impunity at the breakfast table, the twins putting Francis' quiet and sombre mood down to the fictional late-night break in. He hadn't gotten home until 5 that morning, but he couldn't sleep, his mind buzzing and all aflutter with the nights revelations. He had reread the manuscript again, just in case he missed anything, anything that could be used to prove Arthur hadn't done it, that he was remembering wrong, but... all he did was find uncomfortable truths he had missed in the first reading. He had just finished reading when Michelle tumbled out of bed, wanting to play and be fed as all 5 year-old did in the morning.
Alfred got dressed to go out with Romano for the day, Matthew chatting with Maddy over the internet while Michelle played army with her dolls. Francis tried rereading the story again, but in his fatigue the words started to blend together, loosing all meaning. His hand hovered over the delete button, Angus' words echoing in his head. How many copies did Arthur have again? He was sure it was more than he could get his hands on without arousing suspicion. And what was to stop him simply writing it all over again?
Francis closed his laptop, almost throwing it aside as he rubbed his sore eyes. Playing beside him, Michelle picked up on his distress.
"Daddy?" she called, putting her little hands on his knee "What's wrong? Do you feel sick?"
With a deep sigh, Francis looked at his daughter. She was so sweet, big brown eyes full of concern. He smiled at her.
"Daddy's just tired." he promised "I'll be okay."
"You should take a nap." the little girl suggested "I'll play in uncle Mattys room so you can sleep."
"You're a good girl." Francis complimented.
Before the two could converse more, the front door burst open theatrically. Francis was concerned as Arthur burst in, absolutely furious.
"Arthur?" he called, getting to his feet.
Arthur locked eyes on him, rushing forward importantly.
"You!" he demanded "Have you finished it?!"
"Finished?" Francis repeated, backing away a little as Arthur stopped nose to nose with him "The... the manuscript?"
"Yes!" he confirmed "What else? Did you finish it?!"
"Y-yeah." Francis stuttered "Last night."
"And?" he insisted "What did you think of the ending?!"
"The ending?"
Oh dear lord, this was too much. Arthurs eyes were locked on him, waiting for a response. His heart stopped in his chest, his sleep-deprived brain not able to conjure up any answers. It was Michelle that broke the silence, tugging on Arthurs sleeve.
"Uncle Arthur, don't be mean to Daddy!" she demanded "He's tired today! Play nice!"
Arthur looked at her a moment, as if not having realised she was there, then grumbled and backed off.
"They want me to change the ending!" Arthur declared indignantly "Those hack editors, they didn't think Anthony was believable as the killer! They want me to change it to Pearce! Haven't they ever heard of three dimensional characters?!"
Francis' brain stopped working, his breath caught. The editors... wanted to change the ending? If it was just a story to Arthur, changing the ending, changing anything, should be easy. Of course, the editors wouldn't know that the story was true to life, they'd have no issues with messing with it... Francis hated himself for taking advantage of the moment.
"Well... they might have a point." he told him carefully "I didn't really like that ending either."
"Eh?" Arthur whined, furious face dropping "Really?"
"Yeah, it just... I mean... the rest of it was pretty realistic, so the ending was a little too... romantic, I guess?"
"Romantic?" Arthur pondered.
"Yeah, the idea of him getting revenge on his father is too neat. It wraps it up a little too nicely, doesn't it?"
Arthur 'hmm'd, closing his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck unhappily. With a huff, he sat down on the couch, crossing his arms thoughtfully.
"But I don't like Pearce as the killer." he admitted "That's too neat too, isn't it? He stops being a person and just becomes a villain."
"There's nothing wrong with villains." Francis pointed out, sitting down beside him "There are tons of great villain characters in fiction."
"But I don't want to write 'characters.'" Arthur admitted "I want to write human beings. If I make him the killer, he stops being a realistic human and becomes... I dunno, just some evil thing."
"Okay, I get it." Francis conceded before turning to his daughter "Sweetie, why don't you go play with Uncle Matty for a while? We're gonna talk about boring things."
"'Kay." she responded, picking up her toys and going upstairs.
Heart still fluttering irately, Francis smiled at Arthur.
"I'll put the kettle on." he offered "While we're talking about it, I think there's a couple of other things that you should change."
"Eh?" Arthur whined, looking disappointed "Like what?"
"Nothing big." Francis promised "Just some little things."
It took Francis a while to accept the morality of his actions. He was helping a killer escape punishment by changing the details in the manuscript. But he was also helping Arthur get on with life, be free and move on... it was difficult to reconcile. On the couch on that lazy Saturday, Arthur had listened to Francis' suggestions, his little changes that turned the manuscript from fact to fiction. Arthur was unhappy at the changes suggested, but he stayed to discuss the options, only going home much later in the evening. The older brother wasn't sure how many of his suggestions Arthur would take into consideration, but hoped he would take up enough that the uncomfortable reality of it would be lost.
Arthur was a little insulted – he had liked the ending of his story, and those were a lot of suggestions from Francis. Oddly, they didn't seem to be any big things, but little things he suggested should change, like the characters appearance and what kind of food they liked. It was a bit weird. They weren't very big changes, and Francis had at least had the decency to explain why he felt they were necessary, but he still felt a little sore about it. He still didn't like the idea of making Pearce the killer, it just didn't feel right.
He wanted to have a scotch on the rocks to help the creative juices flow, but since alcohol wasn't allowed in the house he would have to find another way, so opted for a long walk along the river front. It was cold and windy, the perfect kind of day for long thoughtful walks. One of the few downsides to working freelance was that no-one was around when Arthur wanted to talk or play, and by the time he had gotten down to work everyone else was winding down for the evening. At least he didn't have to wear a suit.
If Anthony wasn't the killer, who could be? Pearce wasn't right, but neither were Oliver or Adam. He would have to rewrite the whole thing to make anyone else the killer. He was feeling pretty happy that it was finished, but now there seemed like a lot more work to do. What a pain. He honestly couldn't think of what to do...
A great gust blew over him, catching his scarf and sending it flying. Shit! It was his favourite, so he snatched out to grab it, but it snaked out of his hands, flying off. Luckily for him, a passer-by grabbed it as it attempted to fly past him. Unfortunately, they happened to be the last person he wanted to talk to. Arthurs stomach knotted uncomfortably as Patrick walked towards him carefully, holding out the scarf.
"You'd lose your head if it wasn't attached." he joked "Here."
Arthur half wanted to snatch the scarf away and storm off, but didn't want Patrick to see him riled. He took the scarf back patiently, tying it securely.
"What are you doing here?" he asked "You're not working, and I can't imagine you have any friends here."
"You're right." Patrick admitted "I'm here to see you."
"This may shock you, but I'm not really willing to stand here and chat with you."
"I understand: you're pretty mad right now."
"'Mad' eh?"
Arthur pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting up to stop himself snapping at his brother. Patrick waited, clearly desperate to talk to him. He looked ill.
"I missed you." the doctor admitted "You look better than I was afraid you would. Have you put on some weight?"
"A bit." Arthur answered "Ivans cooking was always pretty generous."
"So you are back together with him." Patrick confirmed "Is that wise?"
"Maybe, maybe not. That's kind of my decision to make though, isn't it?"
"It ended pretty badly last time." he reminded him "I'd rather not see you that badly beaten up again."
"I won't be." Arthur assured.
"You know how I worry-"
"Why did you do it?" he interrupted.
Patrick just stared at him a moment, green eyes searching his face desperately. He closed his mouth, eyes starting to water.
"You wanted to leave." he muttered "You wanted to leave me."
"So you decided to turn me into a zombie?" Arthur spat "Was that really any different to just letting me leave?"
"No-one could hurt you." Patrick insisted "If you were at home with us. That was the point. You were happier with us-"
"I was off my head!" Arthur yelled, causing his brother to flinch "Do you have any idea what your fucking pills did to my guts?!"
"That wouldn't have happened if you hadn't stopped taking them!"
"Oh well, that's alright then, isn't it?!"
"I'm sorry-!"
"You're only sorry you got caught!" Arthur knew "Why did you do it?! I can't believe I thought you had changed! How much of what I remember actually happened?! The warm Christmases beside the fire, the holidays by the seaside, the late nights watching bad films... did any of that actually happen, or was it all a drug induced delusion?!"
"Of course they happened!"
"Was I just locked in a room for the last years, just drooling in the corner?!"
"Of course not!" Patrick cried, grabbing his brothers hands desperately "You weren't some prisoner!"
"But I was!" Arthur nearly screamed at him, tearing his hands away "I was your prisoner! Kept in a cell of tranquillisers and mood altering drugs, away from all my friends – my family!"
"We're your family!" Patrick insisted.
"Then why?!" Arthur repeated "Why couldn't you accept my choices and support me like family is supposed to?! I was there, Patrick, in your house, in you life, just like you wanted! We could finally be brothers! All you had to do was be there, support me like a brother should, but that was too much for you, wasn't it?"
"Arthur, please-"
"It was never about me, was it?!" Arthur demanded "I was right from the beginning, all those years ago! It was always about you, your guilt, your conscience! I was never a person to you, just a tool to relieve to relieve your ego!"
"That's not true." Patrick whimpered.
"That's why you drugged me, isn't it?" Arthur asked, chest hurting, heart pounding full pelt within him "Because I was stubborn, because I had my own wants, my own thoughts. Your Arthur, your brother, was just a character in your play of redemption! But I was a person! That's why you drugged me – so I would be the character you had written, the loving, needy little brother that you could protect! You never really cared about me!"
"That isn't true." Patrick whimpered.
The doctor looked completely devastated, his whole body shaking, almost hyperventilating as Arthur vented at him. He had his hands raised, fingers twitching as if he could pull the lingering hurt straight from the air. However, Arthur had no sympathy left. Taking a step back, he straightened his coat.
"You know, you could have had the close brother relationship you wanted." Arthur told him "All you had to do was see me as a person."
With that, the younger brother turned his back on the elder. He hardened his heart, steeled his spine, and walked away. Behind him, Patrick broke down, letting the long held tears flow.
The long awaited confrontation between Arthur and Patrick - I think the power structure has been flipped since earlier in the story, hasn't it?
So, there's only one chapter left (not including the epilogue I'm still not sure I'm going to write or not). How does everyone think it's going to end?
As always, I love reading your reviews!