++chapter five++

In Solis, 455.

The grandfather clock in his father's study was loud. With each second that passed, it seemed like a small explosion sounded in the large room. It was something Nash had never noticed before. He mused about it as he waited for his father to finish with whatever papers he was working on and pay attention to him.

"Now," said his father, putting his signature on one final document. "What is it that you had to tell me, Nash?" He regarded his son with a patient look, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes deepening in a smile. Nash was so like him at a younger age--granted, he looked more like his mother, but that could hardly be helped. He still saw signs of the young man he once was in the boy.

Nash looked down at his hands. They were rough, and he had a thin layer of grime under his fingernails. He'd just come from the temple, knowing that if he wanted to speak to his father he would have to do it then. His mother would be horrified if she saw the state he was in. No matter. This was something that needed to be dealt with now, before Nash had a chance to lose courage.

"Well... First I have a question or two." He glanced up, checking to see if this was alright with his father before continuing. When the old man nodded, he pushed on. "Why did you bring Zaj here?"

It had come to be in the past six months that just mentioning the man's name was a trial for Nash. He hated him. If his visits during the night and his broken finger (which he attributed to a simple sword accident) weren't enough to cement this for him, last month Nash had locked the door against him. He knew it was a foolish thing to do, but he was at his breaking point. It was either that or kill the man, and he doubted his mother would like a corpse on the floor. He still bore the evidence of that particular beating.

He'd finally worked up the courage to go to his father about it, hoping perhaps he could do something about Zaj without actually having to tell him what the dark man was doing.

"To be your and your sister's tutor. You know that. Stop asking silly questions, Nash." The man's smile faltered, wondering what this was all about.

"Isn't there someone else? Aren't there any other tutors in all of Harmonia?" Nash tried to keep the desperateness he felt from showing on his face. Perhaps it was better if his father didn't realize how important this was to him.

"Now, we owe the Quinos family. They've always been loyal to us. Giving their son a job is hardly enough, I'd think." Nash watched as his father leaned back in his plush chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn't going to give in and he was getting annoyed with Nash besides.

No. No. He had to understand. Zaj could not stay here any longer.

"He's not their son! He's just some adopted second-class--"

"Nash. You're not being fair. He's as much their son as you are mine. Why do you care so much? What has he done to you?"

And there it was. The question he couldn't answer. Nash closed his eyes, giving up. He should just tell his father--it would ruin him, but it would get the man away from his sister and away from him. Wasn't that worth it? Didn't he at least deserve justice?

"Fath--Sir. You have to understand. Yulie shouldn't be around him. He's a bad man! Please, just trust me! I know what I'm talking about!"

The clock struck one, the deafening chime almost throwing Nash out of his chair. He gripped the armrests, his knuckles showing white through the skin.

His father looked shocked before he looked angry. "Don't you make demands at me, Nash. You can't come in here and start making wild accusations with nothing to back it up. Get out, unless you have something else to tell me." He made it quite clear that he didn't want to hear anything more, turning back to the work on his desk, dismissing his son.

No.

Nash was at his rope's end. Shooting to his feet and throwing his shirt up to display the myriad of discolored bruises that covered his midsection, he accidentally toppled a vase full of flowers on his father's desk.

"See? How's this for evidence?! He did this because I locked my door against him...! Please, please don't let him around my sister..."

The young man watched in dismay as his father's eyes glazed over, effectively shutting him out. He didn't want to see...so he didn't. There was no help for Nash here.

"Look at the mess you've made," his father said, transferring his gaze from Nash to the floor, where water was soaking into the fine rug. "Get a maid on your way out."

"Dad..."

He didn't look up. Nash stared at him, betrayal and abandon showing clearly on his face. God, what could he do now? He was lost. There was nothing he could do... Nothing at all. He turned away to leave the study, the hall outside looking as desolate as a wasteland.

...Scared in his own home... Was he out there waiting for him? What was going to happen to him now that he'd told? For all the good it did him, he might as well have handed Zaj a knife and stuck it in his back for him. He had the feeling that he'd made things infinitely worse.

Nash turned a corner though he had no idea where he was going. There was no where in this house where he could be comfortable--no where he could hide that Zaj didn't know. He felt like an animal, like he was being hunted and he didn't have any of the advantages his hunter did.

Taking a seat on the stairs that led to the third floor, Nash rubbed the heals of his hands into his eyes harshly. If it weren't for his sister, he would leave. But he feared that if he wasn't around Zaj would turn his attentions to Yulie. Just the thought of that happening was as painful as what Zaj did to him.

It looked like his only other option was to kill him. Nash was fine with that. But how to do it...?

A hand on his forehead interrupted his thoughts. His head was drawn back slowly, until he was face to face with Zaj, who was standing behind him, looking down at him from a higher stair.

"Planning something?" He asked, pushing his glasses up with his free hand.

"No," Nash replied, pulling away and stumbling down the steps. He hated being so close to the man, but he hated it when he snuck up on him even more. Nash started to walk away, not caring if Zaj thought he was running from him--not caring what Zaj thought at all. But before he could put much distance between them, the dark man grabbed his wrist, pulling Nash back against him.

"Why are you leaving so suddenly? Don't you want to spend a little time with the man you love?" Zaj said this mockingly, his lips curled up in a sneer.

"No. You have no idea how much I hate you," replied Nash, his voice bland. He didn't struggle to get away from Zaj, remaining motionless--though tense--in his arms.

"I think I have an idea." The pressure increased on his wrist, grinding the two fragile bones together. Nash didn't cry out, not wanting to give Zaj that satisfaction. "I imagine you hate me almost as much as I hate you and your family and everything you stand for." The older man got closer, as if wanting to make sure Nash didn't miss anything he said. "And that is why I'm going to kill you and your family and everyone associated with the Latkje name."

Nash had heard this all before. Zaj liked to tell him this on a daily basis, at least.

"But since you felt the need to tell your father about the little trick you played on me last month, I might have to speed things up a bit. Make sure you tell your mother and father how much you love them, and why it is they had to die before you go to sleep tonight."

A whimper escaped him unintentionally. Zaj laughed in response. "Remember that this is all your fault. You brought it all on yourself." He pushed Nash away from him, nearly slamming the young man against the wall as he brushed past him.

Nash was left staring after him, more shocked than angry and more angry than coherent. He was going to kill him. There was going to be nothing left of him but a smear on the carpet when he got through with him. How dare he...?! He was dead.

++

It is a known fact that all first loves end badly. Whether it be in infidelity, boredom, or death, there is not a person on this world that hasn't been hurt by that first one... Do you remember his face...? Or do you remember your pain?

++

His parents fell ill three days after his encounter with Zaj in the hallway. On the morning of the fourth day, their family doctor emerged from their chambers with an apologetic look on his face and a meek whisper of "There was nothing more I could do." Nash remembered the moment faintly--Yulie burying her face in his chest and sobbing, Zaj pretending to look shocked and saddened. All the servants turned away crying, and amidst the commotion, he was frozen. Zaj's words echoed in his head...

"...this is all your fault."

So was he an orphan now? Nash realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that it was much, much worse. He was his father's replacement now.

Looking over Yulie's head, Nash met Zaj's gaze. Pinning him with a horrified look, he clutched his sister tighter. Zaj put a mock-sympathetic hand on his shoulder, playing the part of a comforting friend quite well.

"I'm sorry, Nash, Yulie..."

Nash shrugged the hand off, getting to his feet and taking his sister with him. She looked a little confused at the hostility Nash clearly exhibited towards Zaj, but that, just like everything else she was feeling, was soon consumed by her grief. Perhaps this was a fortunate thing, as she missed the words exchanged between the two men.

"Don't you touch me," Nash hissed. The young man looked as though he was already possessed by the Grosser Fluss, despite the weapon being absent. If he had been within reach of a sword--indeed, any other pain inducing object--Zaj would not have been standing; this they both knew.

Rather than reply and jeopardize all that he had worked to build so far, Zaj remained silent, looking at the pair of siblings with what only could have been described as endless pity. As Nash stalked from the room, dragging Yulie after him, the dark man sighed heavily and placed a hand to his olive-toned forehead. The other servants in the room gave him a sympathetic glance.

"He's just upset," said one who had witnessed the scene. "Give him some time."

To this Zaj nodded, looking rather saddened. Silently, he congratulated himself on a superb performance. If the household staff--a suspicious bunch as they were--couldn't see through him then he supposed he had nothing to worry about. As if he would. He'd worked too long and too hard for it to be ruined by some impetuous brat just because he'd knocked off his parents.

Zaj should count himself lucky however, and he knew it. That Nash had been, up to this point, rather inactive was a kind of blessing to him. It certainly made everything easier. Zaj shook his head. No, what made everything easier was that people--even the kid's own family--had been more willing to believe him than Nash. How ironic; he wasn't even noble.

He wondered now, after his parents' death, what would make the young man break. Pain certainly didn't seem to work; Zaj had tried that. Granted, it made for some amusing results, but it wasn't exactly what he was looking for. Perhaps his sister...

Yes, that was definitely Nash's weak point. Yulie, his fiance (oh, of all the laughable things!), was the only reason that Zaj had been able to get away with as much as he had. Any mention of her made Nash go weak and docile, and while this was admirable in its own way, Zaj still found this largely idiotic. Nash should know that he was going to kill her eventually anyway, regardless of what the young man let him do to his body. It would have been humorous were it not so pathetic.

On his way out of the stuffy, death-ridden chambers, a servant stopped him. "What of the wake, sir?"

Sparing a glance over his shoulder at the closed door to the master bedroom, Zaj replied, "Let the mortician and physician arrange it. I'll see if I cannot have the young master calmed down enough to sit watch."

A sadistic thrill ran through his body just at the thought. It was too easy, honestly, to drive Nash insane with these opportunities that kept getting handed to him. Zaj wondered if he pushed hard enough, would he be able to see the exact moment when the young man's sanity abandoned him? It was certainly worth a good effort, he thought.

Suppressing the bounce in his step as he left the room, Zaj wondered where the pair of siblings could have gotten themselves off to. Once by himself, he smiled. It was rare that he ever had such a good day.

++

The wake started as soon as the sun went down that day. It was Harmonian custom that the oldest son stand watch until the sun rose again, and repeat this maddening process three times before the recently deceased were interred in the ground, or as in this case, in the family mausoleum. It was a task that no one enjoyed but that had to be done--there had been many cases of dear family members buried alive because of medical or personal error.

The corpses of Master and Mistress Latkje were laid out in the room in which they died as according to custom, swathed in shrouds to mask the horrible expressions of death they also wore. Their seventeen-year-old son sat in a chair at the foot of their bed, presiding in his silent vigilance just in case they happened to rise once again. Nash hoped they would more than anything--hoped that the physician had been wrong--and that his parents would miraculously sit up and yawn. They'd stare at him, having no right to be there, and shoo him off to his own room until his mother came and got him for church.

They remained ghostly figures underneath the sheer cloth of their shrouds. They were too still to have just been sleeping. There was no hope for them to wake up; no chance of error. His parents were dead.

Nash clutched at the arms of his chair, transferring his gaze from his parents to the floor between his feet, unable to look upon them anymore. It was like death was a tangible presence in the room, laying over him like a heavy veil. He felt the weight of it on his chest, stifling, as if to punish him for breathing in the presence of those whom no longer could. Nash pushed the air out of his lungs--he didn't want to breathe it in. Just as the room started spinning, he gasped. The air tasted like rotting flowers and his mother's perfume.

Fighting back the urge to sob, Nash looked once again to the bed. His father's body lay to the left, the once tall man already looking shrunken and diminished. The young man wanted to jump to his feet and scream, "I told you so!" If only he had believed him...

But who was he kidding? He knew it was his fault. He might as well have stabbed them for all it mattered now. And he might as well throw himself out the window for all the good he was going to do. Never had he felt so weak and powerless or so guilty...

"...this is all your fault."

The corpses burned holes through their eyelids with their blank stares, regardless of blame. That was right, Nash told himself. They were still going to be dead, even if he took the guilt of their passing on his own shoulders. So why not tell the truth? Zaj had killed them.

But he could have stopped it.

"...your fault."

Nash brought his hands to his head, as if to shield his mind from the voices that came from within it. There was nothing he could have done!

Nothing, nothing...

"There was nothing I could do," he whispered, unaware that he had said anything aloud until a sibilant voice answered him.

"Is that so?" It said, drifting from the shadows behind him. Nash shot out of his chair, almost falling on the death-bed as fear and inertia carried him forward. He missed it, however, hitting the floor at the foot of the bed on his hands and knees. His panicked gaze shot across the room, searching for the voice but unable to distinguish one shadow from another.

Zaj stepped forward, the flicker of the single lamp playing across his glasses and emphasizing the evil light in his eyes. Some of Nash's surprise faded, though the fear that made his heart slam in his chest refused to diminish. Huddling against the footboard of his parents' bed like he wanted to become part of the oak, he waited for Zaj to approach him as he inevitably would. Nash felt any hope to get away shatter as the dark man stepped into the circle of light cast by the lamp, the smile playing on his lips illuminated.

"Nothing you could do, hm?" The older man continued, closing in on Nash until he stood directly over him. He resisted the urge to kick the boy; though it would have been his own fault if he had, placing himself at Zaj's feet as he did. But Nash made no move to get to his feet, nor even to look up at him. He looked as though he were curling in on himself, his eyes closed and his knees drawn up to his chest. Perhaps he thought if he made himself into a smaller target Zaj would miss.

Fat chance.

Kneeling, Zaj brought his face as close to Nash's as he could, smirking as the younger man pressed himself further back against the bed. He wondered if he were to put a hand out, would Nash bite it? They put dogs down for that.

Letting his eyes scour Nash's cringing form, Zaj could not help but note the similarities of this situation to when he had first put his plan into action. This time he was not here to offer false comfort.

"This reminds me a lot of that first time... Do you remember? Only that time you were crying. Are your tears all spent for your dearly departed parents?" The sarcastic lilt put on the phrase finally made Nash open his eyes, and in those blue saucers there was more hatred than Zaj had ever seen one person muster. He was fairly impressed. Nash could do something other than whimper.

"Why this look? You play as though you don't love me, dearest. It wounds me," the dark man said, and he would have sounded sincere if everything about him didn't speak only of the pain and death he could cause.

Finally, Nash managed to speak, though his voice was barely a whisper. "I hate you."

Zaj laughed, actually throwing his head back in amusement. He reached out to put a hand on Nash's cheek, which the younger man evaded, looking more and more like a feral little dog as the moments passed. Zaj wanted to make him yelp.

"You hate me? Or perhaps you hate the fact that you fell for it. Perhaps you hate how weak and stupid you are. Perhaps?"

The dark man's words struck a chord within Nash, but he would be damned if he let it show. Unfortunately, he was as easily read as a child's primer, and Zaj saw his words take effect with cruel glee. He finally managed to capture Nash's face in his hand and was surprised when the younger man didn't lash out. Nash remained compliant, so Zaj relaxed the fist of his left hand.

Making a low, pleased sound deep in his throat, Zaj pressed on. "That's it, is it? But maybe there's something more. Don't you hate that I own you?" Nash's startled, confused stare made his smile grow wider. "Heir to the Latkje estates and fortunes--indeed, master of them, now; so says your father's corpse--and you couldn't do a thing if I wanted you to strip naked and let me fuck you right here."

"For all your power, you are so devastatingly weak."

Zaj whispered the words as though they were terms of endearment, and if Nash closed his eyes, he could almost believe it. If he closed his eyes he could believe that he wasn't getting pushed to floor of his parents' bedroom where they laid dead. He could almost believe that Zaj's long, spidery hands weren't creeping underneath his shirt. Almost...

When Nash next opened his eyes, he was holding a dagger to Zaj's throat. He barely remembered how it had gotten into his hand, but the dark man's hands that were groping for a weapon that was not there gave him a clue. Pressing the blade into soft skin, Nash was surprised to see red blood--not black like he half expected it to be.

"I told you not to touch me." The fierceness of his own voice gave Nash a pause, but he recovered quickly enough, increasing the pressure of the dagger until Zaj was forced to back off. They faced each other, both crouched at the foot of the bed. Nash's gaze flickered from Zaj's face to the weapon he was holding and back up to the man's face. The younger man wetted his lips.

Zaj extended his right arm slowly so as not to alert Nash. He felt the satisfying weight of his derringer slide into his palm and, closing his hand around it, smirked. "Would you really kill me then? Make three corpses of your fault in this one room?" Zaj waited for the younger man to falter. When Nash did not, he frowned. "Would you kill one you claimed to have loved?"

Nash responded with a smirk of his own. "Yes," he said. "Most definitely." The angle of the dagger changed, and Zaj felt blood soak into the collar of his finely pressed shirt.

"Funny--so would I." Zaj brought the derringer up and shot Nash cleanly through the shoulder. It wasn't a killing shot, but then it wasn't meant to be. The young man fell backwards, the dagger slipping from his hand. He clutched at the wound, his mouth agape. Zaj picked himself up and dusted himself off, pulling a handkerchief from his breast-pocket to dab at the shallow cut Nash had inflicted. Looking down at the blonde man, he finally gave into his urge and kicked him. The force of the blow on his already bruised midsection coupled with the gunshot wound, caused Nash to gag. His grip on consciousness became tenuous, and he barely heard the knock on the door.

"Nash?! Are you alright?" Yulie had come running when she heard a loud bang. "Nash? What's wrong?" She began to get nervous when no response came from within the room. Putting a hand on the doorknob, she debated whether or not to enter. Her parents were in there...

The decision was made for her when the door opened, revealing Zaj. He was holding her brother in his arms, whom was quite unconscious. A blanket from her mother and father's linen closet hid everything that needed to be hid, except the blood at Zaj's collar.

"What happened?!"

"He fainted. Hit his head on something, I think. Excuse me, Yulie." Zaj brushed past the young woman with an air of concern about him. She fell back, knowing that if anyone, Zaj would help. He staggered down the hall with the weight of her brother, opening and closing the door to Nash's room behind him. Yulie turned her gaze back to her parents' room, shuddering as she saw the pale figures of what used to be her parents lying on the bed. As she closed the door on them, she knew it was an image that would never leave her.

Yulie put her back to the door, feeling slightly guilty that she could not take her brother's place to watch. Tears welled in her eyes as she realized that it didn't much matter anyway--they weren't coming back.