Thanks go to Mysterious Venus, Wingah, Doctah Sawbones, 10burgers, Zillowzest, GMLxAwesome, Zack Frost, DefenseSquadOfDefenseSquad, Eternal, Prominent, lmao-imdeadasf, and MrDen1999.
Alright, here we are with an early morning update! It's unfortunate this one took me the extra week, but I'm getting a handle on working writing into my new schedule. Speaking of, after this update, update days will be moved to THURSDAYS. So, every other Thursday, there will be a new DT:R chapter. That means the next chapter is going up on Thursday, September 29th. This is because with my new work schedule, one of my three days off is Wednesday. If I move things to Thursdays, I'll have an extra day to focus entirely on writing before the update day. Which is very important, because after this chapter? It might be a lot of long ones. I'm excited for it, and you all should be too! On to the chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own Undertale.
... I've never felt like the underdog. Not once in my entire life.
The last thing Xander's mother ever did was squeeze his hand. He stood by her bed, it was 4 PM and it was dark because it was Fortune City and in Fortune City it was always fucking cloudy. The hospital stunk like bleach, the room felt like it was completely filled with water. Evelyn Fortune had not opened her eyes in 39 hours, she had not spoken through her oxygen mask in over a week. Xander stood by her bedside, a twelve year old boy holding her hand and crying out for his momma. She squeezed his hand, and then... The beep. That single, long, shrieking sound. One flat line ran along the monitor by his mother's side, and Xander felt himself go deaf.
I, never needed a title like that.
Xander didn't come to until he felt the nurses hands on him. Until they pulled him back away from her bed and out of their way, until they wrenched his hand out of her rigor mortis grip. Even then, he stood there in the room's corner. He didn't call out to her, didn't try to rush back to her side. He did what all this forefathers had done all their lives. He stood there, and he watched someone die without even trying to help.
Failures... Failures love to call themselves underdogs.
Everything was muffled in Xander's ears. His eyes did not leave her motionless body until one of the nurses realized he was still there, staring at his mother's corpse. He didn't resist when he felt hands on his shoulders, leading him out of the room. He didn't hear what the nurse tried to say to comfort him, it would have been a lie anyway. Everything wasn't going to be okay, they weren't going to fix it, she wasn't going to get better. His mom was dead.
It justifies being a loser.
Father was waiting in the hallway. Sitting on a bench, staring at his hands and not saying a word. Henry Fortune was a coward, and he had not been able to look his wife in the eye as she withered away. Maybe if he had visited, she might have found the strength to survive. Maybe if it was him she was trying to live for instead of Xander, it would have been worth it to her. But all she had was Xander in those final days, and Xander just wasn't good enough.
... And I, Xander The Gatherer, am not a loser.
Chapter 90: The Fortunate Son
Part 1
Or: Born To Wave The Flag
You must not be the biggest fan of me, right? I'm sure you're far too busy rooting for the cannibal or the liar or the insufferable bitch to see my grand design. Why else would you have waited this long to hear my story? You probably think I'm going to die soon, is that it? You think this is your last chance to get my piece of the puzzle? Well I hate to break it to you, but I've never lost once in my life. I'll destroy all those traitors you idolize to get what I want, whether you like it or not... Just as soon as I wake up.
Until then, I'll humor you. And I don't have a child or some separate personality or an older version of myself here as a cohost, because I don't need one. I don't need anyone. Just like everything else, I can do it on my own.
Little Xander wandered along the golden fence, humming all the way. On his side of the fence, the sidewalk was perfectly paved. And on the other side of the fence he didn't care to look. The shattered sidewalks, torn up roads and junker cars that littered the streets of the outer city were of no importance to Xander. He was raised not to look through the fence, he was told there was nothing for him on the other side.
Unlike the unfortunate three who grew up on the other side of the fence, my early childhood was devoid of horrible trauma. The first eleven or so years of my life were very pleasant. In the company of both of my parents, I was loved and cared for. I was happy.
The stick he held in his little hand thumped rhythmically between the golden rungs separating wheat from chaff. His violet eyes stared straight ahead, across the length of his backyard. So much space he'd never walked, at least not on his own. But, like any little boy he had woke up this day with a particularly strong sense of adventure. So, he wandered along the fence that had protected his family for his entire life, and he let the wood of his weapon reach carelessly through into the filthy world outside.
... But, something was lurking. My destiny was rapidly approaching.
Xander's eyes widened when he felt that stick catch on something. He stumbled a little, his arm pulled back but his fingers remained wrapped around the rough bark. And the young heir furrowed his brows. He turned his head, looked down his arm and up his stick to spot the source of this snag in his adventure. Was there a chip in the fence? some oddly bent metal that may have caught his adventurer's blade?
He had already decided it.
When Xander peered through the fence, he spotted a pair of red eyes staring back at him. Crouched down to be at eye level and partially submerged in the shadows of one of the dead trees on the other side of the fence was a man Xander had never seen before. And the heir jumped, he squeaked and fell flat on his butt. He released that stick, leaving it in the powerful pale hand that had snatched it from the other side.
"Hello, little prince." The Killer spoke first, because Xander was speechless. Just a moment ago the boy had lived in a totally different world, one completely separate from The Ivory Ghoul and his wretched side of the fence. Now, as he watched a sharp toothed smile crease that ghastly face, Xander couldn't even remember a world before this one. "You should really be more careful around this side of the fence. Not all strangers are as friendly as I am."
"..." Xander didn't speak, at least not for a moment. He scooted back on the grass, made sure he was out of the reach of those big knuckled, scarred up hands. Scary as this stranger was, he was on one side of the fence and Xander was on the other. So, after he was sure The Killer could not reach him, Xander spoke up in a shaky little voice. "You're not my friend, you're scary..."
Killer paused when he heard that. His eyebrows rose, his eyes widened, he tilted his head a little... And then his mouth opened. He laughed, in a weird and choppy way that Xander had not yet heard. His bottom jaw jumped up and down, Xander kept his eyes on those sharp fangs. He'd never considered a person to be a potential biter, but now he looked at Killer like he was a street dog. Killer thought that was a good thing. It meant Xander really was a Fortune.
"Well, you've got me there. But I can't help the way I was born and neither can you." While Killer spoke, he tapped his finger on the metal fence. His half lidded eyes watched Xander carefully climb to his feet, but he remained crouched there at eye level with the boy. He didn't loom over him, didn't threaten the young heir. there was a fence between the two of them, after all. Still, he reached through with that stick he had snatched. An offering to his highness, one that Xander dared not reach out to take. "Say... Why don't we play a game? Even scary folk like me like games."
"No." Little Xander stated clearly and without hesitation. He stood his ground there, protected by a fence and out of The Ivory Ghoul's reach. Oh the confidence safety could bring... Killer kept smiling, even while Xander rejected him. "I don't wanna play any games with you."
"Oh, little prince..." When Killer stood up, Xander flinched. When he was crouching the Ghoul had looked small, but with his legs and back suddenly straightening and his shadow stretching over Xander, the young heir was forced to reckon with how imposing The Killer truly was. Killer didn't acknowledge the terror creeping over Xander's expression, instead fishing a golden lighter out of his pocket with his free hand and using the other to retract the stick he'd stolen. "Can I tell you a secret?"
Xander's violet eyes narrowed when Killer held the flickering flame of his lighter up to the dry bark of Xander's sword. He hummed quietly, waiting until embers ignited and the stick began to burn. The flames grew, crept over the wood and crackled their orange light onto the shadowed face of The Ivory Ghoul. Then, Killer's glowing red eyes darted back into the eyes of he who would be king, and that smile instantly disappeared into the shadows slithering over his pale face. He whispered... "You're already playing."
"Xander!"
Xander's head whipped around suddenly, freed from the cold grip of Killer's stare. He felt relief at the sight of his father racing across the lawn towards him and the fence, he must not have seen how pale his dad was or the cold sweat pouring down his face. Killer hardly reacted, lifting a stare now bored to the approaching Henry Fortune. It looked like he was running out of time to talk, but that was fine. He only had a few things left to say.
"If you're going to be king, prince Xander, you'll need a much better sword than this one." Killer explained, getting the young heir's eyes to dart back to him. He casually spun that flaming branch in his hand, thrusting it backwards and jamming it into the dry trunk of the dead tree he'd been crouched under. Xander's eyes darted to the flickering light now inside that dead wood, they narrowed and squinted and tried to understand. Fire crept out of the sword Killer had thrust into the wood, it slithered out into the core of the tree and slowly began burning it up from the inside. The orange light reflected in Xander's purple eyes, and he looked curiously back to The Killer. "If you're going to be king, you'll have to win my game."
Flames spilled out of the dead tree's trunk. Xander watched them lick and slither, reach and grasp. More wood to burn, more molten venom to inject. And when his father grabbed him and pulled him close, when his eyes were torn from the burning oak, he realized The Ivory Ghoul was gone.
"Xander, what did he say to you?!" His father's voice was loud. It was frantic, it was angry and it was, above all else, afraid. Xander was hardly listening. It was nearly impossible to hear Henry over the crackling flames. His eyes drifted back to the fire... "Xander? Xander!"
"He, said he wanted to play a game..." Xander recalled hesitantly, his eyes locked on the burning oak. Embers crept up the branches, poisonous grey smoke was seeping out of its crackling bark. The fire was slithering closer and closer to the highest branch, it wouldn't be long before the whole tree burned to the ground.
"Xander, you stay far far away from that man!" Henry Fortune scolded, as if he didn't know the branches were burning. He placed his hands on the face of his son, he looked Xander over like he was afraid he would find a bruise or a gash. When he found none, he continued to give orders. "And never ever play any sort of game with him!"
"But, dad..." Slowly, Xander's eyes panned away from the flames and into the frightened stare of his father. He furrowed his brows like he didn't understand, and orange light looked red in his eyes. "... He said I was already playing."
The next day, I wandered out to the scorched stump of that tree. There was soot on the fence, the gold paint had been burned black. I reached through the rungs, and I grabbed a lighter that I saw sitting on the crumbling white wood. It looked expensive.
... And it had my grandfather's initials on it.
I was never allowed out of an adult's line of sight for more than a few minutes after that. I didn't see an Ivory Ghoul again for another eight years, and the memory of his face soon became nothing more than an ominous apparition in a nightmare every now and again. I hid the lighter I found in my dresser drawer. That gift was between me and the Ghoul.
And for a few more years, all was well. My parents paid close attention to me, they spent time with me, they made me happy. I remember how safe and certain I felt in those days. Good parents, good money, my future was predetermined and it was comfortable. Some day my father would step down and I would step up. The Fortune Foundation would rest in my hands. All of Fortune City would rest in my hands.
One day, Xander stared over the railing of his balcony. His eleven year old hands were without blood and without callous, he had not dug through the dirt like the other boys his age and he had not killed and condemned like his fathers before him. Those hands rested on the metal rails, they slipped slowly along the rough surface. So much of his life felt soft and smooth, but the metal that separated him from the rest of the world was always crude. Rough...
"Dad?" Xander turned his head back towards his mother and father. Evelyn and Henry Fortune sat enjoying the dessert that Xander had already finished at the small table on their balcony. They'd said something about getting fresh air, and Xander had no idea that air was only fresh on this side of the fence. He pointed through the balcony rungs and towards the smog spitting towers in the distance, "Why's that fence there, anyway?"
Henry Fortune shut his green eyes when he heard that question. He paused, and across the table his wife gave him a concerned look. Then, as he lifted a bite of pie on his fork, he answered in a voice that was more stern than Xander was used to. "That fence is there to keep us safe, Xander. It was constructed in memoriam of your Grandfather William."
It was quickly thrown up behind the wall of police officers using lethal force to suppress an angry mob back in '99, following the murder of my grandfather at the hands of the Ivory Ghoul. But I didn't know that yet.
"Keep us safe..?" Xander furrowed his brows. His thoughts drifted back to the pale monster he had seen on the other side of the fence. Were there more like him through the metal? Was there anyone else with glowing red eyes, waiting to play a game that Xander dared not play? He remembered the lighter hidden in his room, the one The Killer had left him. The one that was made for his grandfather decades ago. "Safe from what?"
"Oh, Xander." His mom giggled at his curiosity, but that didn't answer Xander's question. Evelyn hastily stood from her chair and made her way over to him. She placed her hand atop his neatly combed head of hair and ruffled it, turning him away from his father and back towards the fence all the while. Xander just looked up at her, confused by her perfect smile and unaware that he would soon inherit it. "You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"
"I guess I just don't get it." Xander explained as his mother took her hand off his head. The two of them rested their arms over the balcony, they stared out towards the grey bricks looming on the other side of the fence. "If Fortune City belongs to our family, why don't we own that part out there too? Why do we have to hide in here?"
"Hide?" Henry repeated, sitting up some and shooting a glare at the back of Xander's head. But Evelyn placed a hand on the back of his head to assure he didn't turn around and see his father's anger, looking over her shoulder at him all the while and giving him a warning stare. Seeing this look from his wife, Xander's father just rolled his eyes and shook his head, looking away from the two of them.
"Xander, we aren't hiding behind that fence." Evelyn explained gently, turning her violet eyes back down to her son. Xander looked up at her while her hand rubbed his back, his brows still furrowed and a doubting frown on his face. His mother explained carefully, "We're on this side of the fence because this is where people like us belong, and the people on the other side of the fence are out there because they don't belong on this side."
"All of the city is ours, Xander. Don't you worry about that." Evelyn smiled in her perfect way down at her boy, and Xander found himself starting to smile too. Something about his mother's smile always instilled faith, in himself and in all others she shared it with. In her PERSERVERANT eyes he could always see certainty and safety, so he believed her when he spoke. "And someday soon, it's all going to be yours."
Xander paused for a moment. Smiling, he basked in his mother's shine for a few seconds. But, just as he opened his mouth to speak, her smile faded. Her chest and shoulders convulsed, and she hastily clasped a hand over her mouth when a quick fit of coughing blasted up her throat. It started normal, maybe something brought on by allergies or swallowing her own spite wrong. But it dragged on, soon turning into a wheezing, dry rasp.
"Mom?" Xander placed a hand on his mother's side, tilting his head to the side. Worry shined in the eyes she had given him when he watched her hunch over some. She placed her free hand over her chest, resting much of her weight on the balcony railing while she hacked and croaked.
"Evelyn?" After another second or two Henry's own worry set it. He stood from his chair and took a step over towards her, but finally her cough started to die down. She took a few quick breathes, hastily waving a dismissive hand at her son and husband while she struggled to breathe color back into her own skin.
"I'm alright, really..!" She forced a smile, and it didn't look as convincing as the last one. She quickly stood up straight and shook her head, using one hand to wave air at her own face. "Hoo! That was quite a tickle in my throat!"
... She'd be dead in a year.
Things were never the same after my mother died. My father loved her dearly, they loved each other dearly. And after she was gone, he never really recovered.
"Dad? I'm home." Xander announced through the lobby that welcomed him after he made his way through the front door. His voice carried up the steps, through the halls of the second floor and to his father's study. When he didn't get a response, he didn't think much of it. What he did find odd, as he kicked off his shoes and started making his way towards the stairs, was that there was no maid or butler in sight. He glanced from one side to the other, peered into the kitchen and the living room both and found no one each time. Someone should have been preparing dinner by now...
Once Xander made his way to the top of the steps, he slung his backpack off of his shoulder and set it by the railing. He turned towards the open door at the end of the hall, and he furrowed his brows at how dark it appeared to be within his father's study. What was supposed to be natural light through the window or perhaps soft lamp light was instead the grating blueish white light of a television.
Skeptically, Xander made his way across the carpet and towards the wide open door. He peaked his head into the study, and he furrowed his brows at the back of his father's chair. Though his back was to him, he could see his father's hand laying on the arm rest and holding a glass half empty. He frowned; dad didn't drink before mom got sick. Still, Xander managed to look past his father's drink and to the old tape playing on the television across from him.
My father did not often talk about life before my birth, but I can imagine that growing up a Fortune in a time after The Ivory Ghoul arose and before the fence was erected leaves a man with some trauma. My father was a coward, and without my mother to lean on...
"This was the scene last night on the roof of city hall." The news woman's voice echoed through the study while grainy camera footage showed the roof of a building Xander had never seen before. He could guess why; there was fire licking up and out of the windows from the inside of the building. But the focus of helicopter spotlights was not on the fire, it was instead on the slumped corpse leaning against the highest peak of the burning building and the symbol drawn on the wall behind it. There, drawn clear across the brick in spilled blood, was an encircled A. The symbol for anarchy. "Mayor William Fortune, believed to be the one laying on the roof, was pronounced dead at six o'clock this morning."
The words went on. They flew by Xander, his eyes locked on that corpse on the screen all the while. "Arson", "Murder", "Ghoul", "Burned down", "Killed"... "Anarchy". Eventually, Xander pried his eyes from the screen. He took a few more slow steps forward, he peeked skeptically around the chair and he asked... "Father?"
"Hm..?" Henry Fortune's green eyes looked dull grey in the reflection of the old news he watched. He glanced to his son from his eye's corner for a moment, before he looked back to the TV. His sunken in, lifeless expression didn't change while he spoke. "I didn't hear you come in."
"... Dad, what is this?" Xander took a few more steps forward. He kept his eyes on his father while he gestured to the television, shaking his head in confusion all the while. "Where'd all the help go? Why are you sitting in the dark watching... What are you watching?"
"... Sent the help home. Didn't wanna be bothered." Henry Fortune looked into his glass and he did not see his reflection. That was probably a good thing, he didn't much like looking at himself. His sunken in eyes drifted back up to the screen, which now displayed the growing mobs in city streets Xander had never walked. "Civil unrest", "Police brutality", "Looting"... Henry sipped his drink, and then he spoke again. "You know, Xander, I wasn't supposed to inherit this money."
"What..?" Xander questioned, confusion written over his face. That didn't make sense - Henry Fortune was William Fortune's eldest son. His uncle Nicholas had fled Fortune City decades ago, and he was his mother's brother, not his father's. So who on earth was supposed to get the money if not his father? "Then, who was?"
"Some upstart prick your grandfather liked..." Henry mumbled into the hand he used to rub his face. He slouched forward and shook his head while he explained, "Wasn't even apart of the family, wasn't even wealthy..."
"He was an orphan, for fuck's sake!" Henry suddenly exclaimed, throwing one frustrated hand out towards the TV while he leaned his head back. Xander recoiled a little at this sight, but he didn't say a word. He'd never heard this part of the story before. Henry sunk into his chair, burying his face in his hand and mumbling a few more words. "But your grandfather, the worthless old prick... He said Arthur had 'killer instinct'. That he had 'a vision'. That I was just 'a leech waiting for him to die'..."
"Stupid old man, picking some worthless orphan as his son over the kid he actually made... The last thing my father ever said to me was "I only have one son"." Henry's withering eyes darted back over to Xander. Xander, who watched his father without pity or sympathy. Instead, the boy was reserved. Always reserved, ever since his mother passed. Thoughts and feelings hidden behind his forehead... Brat was probably just worried about his own destiny. Who would ever give a damn about Henry Fortune? He shook his head and let his bitter eyes rest back on the TV. "Then the Ivory Ghoul killed him and his fake son both. Too bad, so sad."
"... Back then, it felt like the whole world was ending." Xander's father leaned his head back in his chair. His arms went limp at his sides, his fingers barely kept a grip on his empty glass. His tired, bitter eyes watched the fan over his head spin... "If I hadn't had your mother there to guide me through it... Well. Maybe your grandfather was right about me."
"... I miss mom too, dad." Finally, Xander reached out. He grabbed the remote from his father's desk and he paused the tape. The image on the screen stopped on the news anchor's face. Her mouth was half open, she'd been halfway through a sentence that Xander didn't care to hear. He looked back to his father, "But this isn't healthy. It's been four years since she... I, think you need to get out of the house."
"There's nothing outside of the house." Henry responded, flat as ever. He raised one weak hand, gestured pathetically out towards the closed blinds on the window while he bellyached. "There's nothing on the other side of the fence. Only thing waiting for me out there is that fuckin' Ghoul..."
"... What do you want me to say?" Xander shrugged slowly, giving an exasperated shake of his head. He wasn't a therapist, he wasn't even an adult yet. Whatever answers his father was looking for he clearly didn't have, and it was exhausting. For years, it had been exhausting. He'd watched his mother wither away and for the last four years his father had been doing the same. That was frustrating to him, and he figured his father could hear it in his voice. For a few long moments, everything was quiet...
...
"... Love, does things to a person. Terrible things..." Henry Fortune began rambling, much to the concern of his son. He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket while he stared at the ceiling, Xander recognized them as the same brand his mother used to enjoy here and there. Slowly, Henry's withered green eyes glossed over to his son, the poor bastard. "... Xander, I want you to promise me something."
"Yes, father..? What is it?" Xander spoke a little more quietly, he could feel a knot tightening in his stomach. His thoughts drew back to his mother's hand in his own, his ears heard her flatline again. That knot pulled tighter...
"... Promise me you'll never love anyone like I loved your mother." When Xander heard those words, gravity intensified. For just a moment, he thought back on his early childhood. The days before his mom got sick, the family outings. The way his parents looked at each other, the precedent they set for love. For a proper marriage, a proper family. His father's dead, heartbroken eyes looked through Xander like he wasn't even there, and he knew he'd lost both his parents in that hospital room. "Can you do that for me, son..?"
"... I..." Xander opened his mouth and he nearly choked. He stammered for a moment, tried to get his thoughts and feelings in order. How could he promise not to love? Looking at his withering father, it seemed to be the only option. Maybe making this promise would pull Henry out of his despair, maybe his father could survive another day if he agreed. So, though the words scratched his throat on their way up... "... Yes, father. I... I promise."
... I broke that promise, and I've been paying the price ever since Clifford was taken from me.
"Thank you, Xander. You're a good son." Henry forced a smile, pathetic as it was. Still, Xander smiled back. He wondered while he watched his father reach into his other pocket, if Henry Fortune had ever been told he was a "good son". It didn't sound like it. It sounded to Xander like his grandfather was a pretty shitty father. Xander didn't have much more time to think on it though, instead looking to the wallet and keys that his father had pulled out of his pocket and was now offering to him. "Here, son. Take my card and my car. Go out, have a good day. Buy whatever you like."
"... Are, you sure, father?" Xander glanced skeptically from his father's offering and back to his dad. Slowly, he reached out his hand while he asked, "I wouldn't want to waste any of your money."
"Bah. At your age, it's important to have fun." Henry insisted with the dismissive wave of his hand. He pushed that money and those keys more out towards his son, and Xander shrugged his shoulders while he carefully took it from his father's hands. Henry scoffed, "Besides, it'll be your money eventually anyway."
"Ha, I guess that's true..." Silently, Xander was grateful that his father was not the bitter old man that his grandfather must have been. Xander worked hard all his life, that was what the early support of his parents had taught him to do. For that reason he knew he would never be renounced. So long as he worked hard, he would always be the Fortunate Son. So, he reached out and he took what his father had offered him. "Thanks, dad!"
That night, I let myself forget my name. I wore casual clothes, I drove out to the other side of the fence. I let my feet touch the cracked concrete, I let my hand feel the other side of the metal. I breathed air that I wasn't born to breathe. I bought clothes and shoes and all sorts of frivolous things. I had dinner in a positively wretched diner. I bought flowers for my mother, and I left them on her grave.
... And when I got home that night, I found my father hanging from the ceiling fan in his study.
When I watched my mother be lowered into the ground, I was bawling my eyes out. There was this wretched, primal agony tearing my heart apart. It was something akin to what a baby would feel, I think. Screaming and crying out for the comfort of their mother, but with the added sting of knowing I would never see her again.
But, when I watched my father sink into the dirt beside her, I did not cry. There was no burning, seething anguish that made me want to stamp my feet and scream and beg for a different outcome. I knew there was no reality but this one. My mother had not been strong enough to fight off her disease, and my father had not been strong enough to fight off his depression. I was sixteen, and all the family I cared to know was dead.
... Unfortunately, there remained one other man in my family. And in leu of my father's death, uncle Nicholas returned for the fortune he had always desired and was never meant to own.
It had been an exhausting, awful day. Overcast, windy, cold... At least the shitty weather had driven out the bootlickers fast. Dozens of associates, 'close family friends'. "I knew your father" this and "I knew your mother" that. "Your grandfather and I worked together." "I actually met you when you were a baby, oh how you've grown!" Everyone knew what Henry had written in his will: Everything to Xander. A boy not even seventeen was the richest man in the city, and everyone other than Xander couldn't stop thinking about it.
Truthfully, Xander had not thought much about the bank account that he now had in his grasp. The green meant little to him, it could not revive the dead. In the few days experience he'd had with money, all it had brought him was the pity and fake concern of people four times his age and a quarter of his worth. He'd been around rich people his entire life, of course he knew greed when he saw it. Snakes in grass, they all rattled and rattled their poisonous invitations.
Into his pocket Xander reached, retrieving a half empty cigarette pack and the lighter he had kept hidden in his dresser for eight years. The flame still ignited despite decades of inactivity, and Xander slipped one of his mother's cigarettes between his lips, holding the flame up to its tip. Nasty little habit, he picked it up the same night he found his dad dangling from the ceiling. It felt gross at first, but now it seemed that Xander's cigarettes were the only thing he could rely on.
"Cigarettes, huh? Your grandfather always preferred cigars." Finally, the man lurking behind Xander spoke. He was the only one who had yet to clear out, a specter that had been lingering at the edge of Xander's bubble for the entire funeral. Now, uncle Nicholas finally gathered the balls to stand beside his nephew and the grave of the sister he had abandoned. He paused while he read Evelyn's tombstone over again, Xander wondered if he felt anything about never going to his sister's funeral. Then, he continued. "... I'm sorry for your loss, Xander. I know how you feel - I've lost a father, a sister, and now a brother."
"... Uncle Nicholas. I've heard a lot about you." Xander spoke, only after pulling his cigarette away from his lips and exhaling a stream of grey fog. He did not look into his uncle's yellow eyes, instead keeping his PERSERVERANT stare on the headstones ahead of him. "Yes, our family appears to be wearing very thin."
"It's good to finally meet you, Xander." Nicholas flashed a smile that Xander didn't bother to look at. The two of them were both holding umbrellas over their heads, a few drops of cold rain was an omen of the storm to come. "I would have approached you earlier, but... I know how hard funerals can be. I didn't want to disturb you."
"How could you know a thing about funerals?" Xander asked without a hint of aggression in his voice. He took his cigarette back between his lips, and he let the sunken in purple of his stare dart over towards his uncle. "You were too busy hiding from the Ivory Ghoul to attend grandfather's funeral, and I certainly didn't see you after your sister and my mother died."
"... Well, yes, but... I'm here now, Xander." Nicholas glanced to the side, grimacing at his nephew's scathing words. He took a deep breath, he could smell the stink of Xander's cigarette while he turned his head back towards his nephew. "Like you said, our family is wearing thin. It's important now more than ever that we stick together."
"My family has done very little for me as of late." Xander's bitter eyes squinted their fury down at his father's tomb. Dirt was still fresh. If there was any use in it, he could drop to his knees and dig his hands into the earth. He could pull and tear and rip through the top soil, he could thrown open the coffin. He could sucker punch his father for abandoning him. But, he decided as he took another long drag from his cigarette, that anger would be better spent on the living. So, his eyes darted back to his uncle, and in them Nicholas saw William Fortune. "You're here for my grandfather's money. My dad's money. My money. But you didn't deserve it when my grandfather died, and you don't deserve it now. Go home and stop wasting your time."
"... Heh." Nickolas Fortune paused for a long time. He stared at Xander with thinly veiled, primal rage. He may have thought himself a prodigal son, but Xander knew he was just a bum begging for money. Just like all the other wretched folk on this side of the fence. But, finally, he scoffed. He flashed a smile, this wretched twisted thing. It was nothing like the pure, trustworthy smile Xander had learned from his mother. "Fortune City is a dangerous place, Xander. Without an adult around to protect you... Well, it'd be a real shame if something bad happened to you."
"..." This time, Xander cracked a smile. His teeth crushed the butt of that cigarette, and he exhaled grey fog through his smile. Finally, he pivoted, facing Nicholas head on. He reached up, taking that cancer stick between two of his fingers and pulling it away from his lips while his powerful purple eyes tore through Nick's sickly yellow ones. "Don't speak to me of shame as if you know a damn thing about it. You are a worthless coward, and I am the most powerful man in Fortune City."
"So if you cross me, Nick?" Xander paused then, brought that cigarette back to his lips. He inhaled, filled his lungs with smoke and let the ash crumble all the way to the butt of the cigarette. Then, he flicked that worthless cigarette butt onto the muck his father laid beneath and blew a stream of silver smog right into his uncle's face. "I'll fucking kill you."
"... You had your chance, Xander." Nicholas Fortune growled while he backed away. But there was cold sweat on his forehead, his snarl meant nothing. He was a coward, just like Xander's father. He hissed as he slithered away, "Remember that!"
"I'll remember to kick you away the next time you try to latch onto my coattails, bum!" Xander barked back across the graveyard, snarling over his shoulder at what remained of his wretched family. More rain was striking his umbrella now, it was slowly turning the dirt on top of his father to mud. After Nickolas left, Xander grumbled and turned his eyes forward again. He shook his head, keeping a white knuckled grip on his umbrella.
To say I was angry after my father left me would be an understatement. I was furious. I had done nothing but been good and responsible all my life, so when I stared at my parents laid to rest without me, I couldn't understand why. I was destined for an easy, lavish life. That is what I was supposed to be guaranteed as a Fortunate Son. Sorrow, anger, indignation, those feelings were meant for the other side of the fence. I had been promised everything I ever wanted, and all I had was a tightly packed bottle of emotions buried in my chest that my money couldn't remove. But, that money was all that I had been given. So all the greedy adults trying to take it from me only made me angrier.
Finally, Xander lifted his eyes from those twin headstones. He looked out across the cemetery to the golden fence at its back. There, the graveyard for the wealthy was separated from the graveyard of the commoners. A few gold painted poles made all the difference, at least according to the people who put them up before Xander was born. But the dirt everyone got buried in was the same, and the air the grieving breathed all tasted like shit.
Xander felt this point driven home when his eyes met those of someone directly across from him. A few yards ahead, at the opposite end of the fence, was another young man in a suit. His eyes were sunken in and green, they reminded Xander of his late father. Even though it was raining, the boy didn't have an umbrella. Xander locked eyes with him, the fence an entire world between them. Still... Xander put one foot in front of the other. He walked through the mud, squeezed between his parents tombstones, and marched towards the fence.
Through those rungs, Angel didn't move. He was like a corpse, another thing that reminded Xander of his father. He didn't walk away when Xander approached, and he didn't look relieved or annoyed to see him make his way over. And when Xander eventually stood right across from him, and only those gold rungs stood between the two of them, he was the one who spoke first. "... So people die on your side of the fence, too."
"... More frequently than I would like." Xander admitted after a moment of thought. He thought Angel's tone and his words were intriguing after an entire day of being patronized and pandered to. That's what he had enjoyed about that side of the fence, the people felt real. Gritty, grimy, and rough, but real. He eyed the tombstone Angel was standing in front of. It was so humble, so small compared to the grandiose memorials that stood in his parents wake. "Must be something in the air."
"I'm pretty sure it's the people on the ground." Angel's green eyes were devoid of KINDNESS, his face was without a smile. Xander thought that was a good thing, there wasn't shit to smile about in Fortune City. Xander nodded at his words, took a moment to look at the sling his arm was suspended in and his awkward, almost pained stance.
Rain beat on his umbrella. It struck Angel, soaked his hair and his rented suit. It dripped down the fence, droplets reflected the grey sky. And Xander eventually nodded towards those lingering clouds, asking his own question. "Don't you mind the rain?"
"Hate it." Angel answered with ease. He buried his good hand in his pockets, his frown dug a little deeper into his face. A wet strand of hair dangled across his forehead, and he shrugged his shoulders. "But you get used to it on this side'a the fence."
"..." Xander paused, thought for a moment. Then, carefully, he reached up. He closed his umbrella, let the rain strike his perfectly groomed hair and the suit he owned. Then he reached forward, pushed his umbrella halfway through the rungs and presented it to the green eyed stranger across from him. "Here. I think we could use a little rain on this side of the fence."
"... A Fortune givin' somethin' back to the other side. Never thought I'd see the day." Angel cracked a wry smile, and Xander's eyebrows lifted some. He'd known he was a Fortune, and still chose to speak to him so casually? Xander found a smile of his own on his face while Angel reached out, taking hold of the umbrella poking through the rungs. Xander released his own grip, letting Angel pull it through the fence.
"I think I would like to be a different kind of Fortune." Xander explained, indifferent to the rain striking him. He watched Angel pop open the umbrella he'd been gifted, holding it up over his head to guard against the rain that Xander had condemned himself to. He explained, "It doesn't seem to me that my forefather's ways have done anyone much good."
"That so?" Angel tilted his head to the side some. He cocked a brow at Xander, and took a minute to consider... Before shrugging his one good shoulder. "If that's the case, I should probably warn you."
"Warn me?" Xander repeated back, furrowing his now wet eyebrows.
"My Granny didn't just die from bein' old. She was murdered." Angel tilted his head forward some, let shadows slip over his face. His frown dug deeper into his face, his fist trembled around the handle of the umbrella he'd been gifted. "The Ivory Ghoul's still out here, on this side. And if I'm remembering city history right, the last time a Fortune tried to make a change he killed 'em for it. So keep an eye out."
"... The Ivory Ghoul..." Xander let the name roll around on his tongue. His eyes glossed over the muddy grass at his feet and the patchy dirt across the fence. His thoughts drifted back to that tape his father had been watching, the corpse of his grandfather crumpled on a burning building under a symbol of chaos... Xander lifted his head, looked Angel in the eye and nodded his head. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
Angel didn't say anything after that. He just nodded and looked back to the tombstone he was grieving over. Xander took that as his cue to leave, but took a moment to lift his eyes and look out at the looming grey brick buildings that detailed Angel's side of the fence. The broken and boarded up windows... It felt to Xander that somewhere within them, a pair of red eyes was watching him.
For the next five or six months, I spent a lot of time in the library beneath my lonely mansion. The public didn't see me, I didn't go to all the worthless events I was invited to. The rich have such an odd desire to pat themselves on the back. Charity events for problems they caused, wherein the cost of champagne and musical guests far outweighs any money they donate. It was becoming more and more clear to me that my side of the fence was made of plastic, not gold.
Instead of rubbing elbows with Fortune City's sludge center, I read up on the history of my city. There were hundreds of old news papers and VHS recordings of news reports locked away in my family's cellar, right by the safe stocked with dollar bills. Apparently my grandfather didn't much believe in banks, something he may have picked up from his own father, who lived through the Great Depression. So, while a portion of my family's money was stored in the bank with all the other plastic folk's fortunes, the majority of it was hidden behind two feet of steel under Fortune Manor.
I didn't pay much attention to current events, they would surely always be the same. The city was rotting, I didn't need the sugar coated propaganda of the local news to explain that to me. So, when The Ivory Ghoul started rampaging again, I had no idea. Not until he was walking the halls of my mansion.
Xander awoke that day when the sun was already starting to go down. His sleep schedule was in ruin, rest did not come easy. His mansion felt empty after his father passed, and he purposefully avoided the help. Not that they had much to do other than dust and make Xander's bed, anyway. The cook made three meals a day and stored them in refrigerator, and Xander had eaten breakfast at seven PM six times this week. He didn't bother sitting at the kitchen table anymore, he just carried his plate to his subterranean research center and remained down there until he hungered again or needed sleep. His hygiene was the least frequent it had ever been in his life, but that was fine. It was all fine. There was work to be done, knowledge to be pursued. Plans to be made.
Xander spent his first few hours awake reading about the year his grandfather was elected. It was such a strange thing, Fortune City before the Ivory Ghoul. The problems of that time all seemed so small, the first few steps to a staircase that Xander now stood at the top of. After reading and watching so much about him, Xander often found himself wondering what his grandfather would think of Fortune City as it is. The nearly two decades without a mayor or any real government, the lawless world outside and the fence that the rich hid behind. The answer Xander imagined was always the same: "It's all a great opportunity."
Grandpa William Fortune had a knack for collecting talent. Whether it be the orphan Arthur he selected as his surrogate son (now dead), the crooked cop he pushed to chief of police (dead), the scumbag district attorney (really dead), the gang kingpins he had in his pocket (Ivory Ghoul mailed each of their severed heads to the mayor's office)... Xander hoped he could cultivate an eye for help like his grandfather's. Perhaps if he could put together a better team than his grandfather's, he could crack the whip and get this city back under control. Fortune City needed a hero. It needed order, it needed a king.
There was a time when I didn't wish to rule the world. There was a time when all I wanted was the destruction of that fence and the safety of the city I'd been born for. There was a time where I wanted to prove to someone or something that a Fortune could do something worthwhile. That was a time before I knew what was really worthwhile and what wasn't. That was a time when I was a weaker man.
Somewhere between nine and ten PM, Xander finally climbed back up stairs towards the kitchen for lunch. While he microwaved what the chef had left in the fridge for him, he paced around his kitchen. His steps helped organize his thoughts, so he paced often. This time, his wandering led him to the outside of his kitchen. Once he stood there, an unfamiliar noise caught his attention. A breeze trickled through the stale air of his lonely mansion, drawing his attention down the hallway to his left.
The hallway was pitch black, apart from the moonlight shining in through the window at its dead end. Xander squinted at the sight; had the help left that window open? He hadn't even walked down that hall in weeks, and he didn't remember the last time he'd bothered with opening a window.
Furrowing his brows, Xander slowly made his way towards the hall. He found his heart beat quickening as the shadows slipped over his skin. His jaw tightened some, The Dark was cold. For whatever reason, his mind drifted back to the stranger on the other side of the fence. The boy with those dead green eyes, the one who warned him about...
Xander's eyes widened some when he reached the window. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead. From the window, he could see right out into the backyard. Out to the fence, and through the burned and blackened part of the fence to the scorched stump. And gradually, while he gulped, Xander's eyes lowered. He looked down with pained slowness to the window he was standing at, and his pupils shrunk in terror when he spotted a ladder leaned against the brick. It reached right up to the second floor that Xander was standing on, and it laid right beneath the window he stood in.
In that instant I was certain: The Ivory Ghoul was in my home.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The shriek of the microwave made Xander jump. Quickly, his mind raced through contingency plans. He'd thought about this possibility before, Angel's warning had not gone unheeded. And while most would think to descend the ladder and flee his home or run for the front door to escape or even find a closet to hide it, Xander had learned enough about the Ghoul in the past six months to know that was futile. If he ran, that creature would catch him. It was likely it was already three steps ahead of him, after all it had clearly caught him off guard.
But, there was one place that the Ghoul could not reach. It had no way to get into Xander's safe. If Xander could reach the safe in the basement and lock himself inside, he could call the police and wait for them to show up and scare off the Ghoul. But he had to move fast; if the Ghoul didn't already know where he was, the beep of the microwave would have indefinitely given away his location. So, without another moment's hesitation, Xander broke into a sprint.
The Fortunate Son raced down the hall. Through the kitchen, through another hall, down one stair case, across a living room, down another staircase and into the basement he'd been living in. The entire sprint, Xander heard his heart in his ears. His mind reminded him of every atrocity he'd read about, every gruesome murder, every mutilated corpse recovered after the night passed. Every blurred out image the news flashed, every memorial service, every fire, every riot... He could have swore there was something right behind him, reaching out to grab him and waiting for him to slow even a little.
But, finally, Xander reached the basement. He slammed the door at the bottom of the steps behind him, he took two steps forward to run right at the safe at the far end of the spacious basement... And he stopped. Because there, in the dim blueish white light of the TV playing old news reports, were a pair of glowing red eyes. Sat against the vault door, immersed almost entirely in the shadows, was the shape of The Ivory Ghoul.
In that instant, Xander was paralyzed. Looking into those crimson eyes, he felt The Dark stretch out and take hold of him. For a moment, all light disappeared. It was just Xander, alone in The Dark with that red eyed shape across from him. All the while, recorded screams and cheers echoed out of a TV. And while a death cult from a time passed chanted the Ghoul's message, Xander could only think five words.
"I don't want to die."
"An! ar! chy! An! ar! chy! An! ar! chy!"
Xander stumbled back when Killer rose to his feet. Almost instantly in the watery depths of The Dark that beast rose from a sitting position, and it sent Xander right back to when he was eight years old and there was still a fence between him and this looming abomination. But now The Ghoul had crossed the fence, and still it loomed over him like he was nothing but a helpless child. It took all of Xander's might to stammer, "D-don't..! Don't come any closer..!"
"Why?" Killer hissed. His eyes were wide with intrigue and glee, they twitched with the madness that his kind bled. He wandered closer, his shadowed figure seemed to stretch and loom unnaturally in the pitch black Darkness. Suddenly, Xander could make out the mouthful of fangs beneath those heartless scarlet eyes. "Why shouldn't I kill you, little prince? Why do you deserve to live?"
"... B-because..! Because!" Xander's hands twitched. His pupils trembled, his heart pounded. But, with all his might, he reached. He had to call on all the DETERMINATION he could find in his violet heart, just to move his hand. Just to reach trembling fingers into his pocket and grab ahold of something. Then, the moment he had it, he ripped his hand up and out of his pocket. He shoved that hand out towards The Killer, and he flipped open his grandfather's lighter. It's flame ignited, a brilliant flare that scorched The Dark and made The Killer recoil into the receding shadows. And Xander grabbed hold of his heritage with cold sweat on his brow. He forced his lips into the perfect, convincing smile his mother had left him with.
"Because I've still got a game to win..!"
I knew you knew Xander's backstory would be chapter 90, Eternal. But did you know it would also be, CHAPTER 91?!
Please Favorite, Follow, and Review.
XWolf26, out