Final Debt

by Pepper Winters

  Cut clenched his jaw as I moved away.

  I accidentally knocked his painful limbs to squat in front of him. “I can’t kill you, Dad.”

  Dad.

  I hadn’t used that word since Jasmine’s disability.

  Not since the last time he’d deserved such an adoring title.

  Cut smiled, his golden eyes matching mine in the darkness. “I’ve always loved you. You know that, don’t you?”

  I wanted to say I didn’t. That when he shot me in the parlour. That when he hurt my sister in the barn. That every day I strived for his respect and love, I didn’t know what was beneath his sadism.

  But I refused to lie to a dying man.

  I’d known. And that was why I trusted that eventually, one day, the goodness inside him would win. That he wouldn’t remain as awful as he had.

  A childish hope and finally, it had come true.

  Only for him to die.

  “Kite…before I go…I want to do something to right my mistakes.” His voice ached with sorrow. “Something to protect you all from the instructions I set beyond the grave.”

  If I didn’t sense his sincerity, I wouldn’t have believed he could feel so much regret. But he did—mountains of it. Chasms of it. He truly hated what he’d done. To everyone, not just to Jasmine and me but also to Nila and Kes and Daniel. And Rose. Most of all Rose.

  I stared at him. He wanted something…something to…

  “A piece of paper? Is that what you need?”

  Cut smiled crookedly. “You always were a mind reader.”

  “Even when you tried to beat it out of me.”

  The truth in our words was just that. Truth. Not judgement or accusation. Just a statement of what was.

  Cut nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.” Climbing wearily to my feet, I moved toward the large table with implements of destruction and opened a rickety draw. Inside, I found a mouse-chewed notepad and a gnawed-on pencil.

  Taking both back to my father, I sat back down and passed them to him.

  He tried to take them, but his arms wouldn’t work. The tendons failing to transmit instructions.

  He sighed. “You’ll have to do it.”

  He didn’t lay blame. Just spoke the facts. He accepted his punishment and didn’t hate me—if anything, he was grateful to have paid for his trespasses.

  “What do you want me to write?”

  He took a deep breath, thinking.

  Finally, he recited, “I, Bryan ‘Vulture’ Hawk, do solemnly pledge my death is justified and accepted. I renounce all former decree that if my death is judged as murder that my firstborn heir, Jethro ‘Kite’ Hawk, is cut from my will. I revoke the agreements in place to send him to Sunny Brook Mental Institute and rescind all further instruction dealing with my daughter and other inheritors.”

  His voice hitched, but he forced through his body’s shortcomings to relay his final message. “On this day, I draw forth a new Will and Testament with Jethro Hawk as my witness and true heir that all lands, estates, titles, and fortune pass to him upon my demise. This is binding and unchangeable.”

  A ball lodged in my throat as Cut shifted awkwardly. “Hold the paper and help me grab the pencil.”

  Swallowing hard, I wrapped his fingers around the pencil and hovered it in place on the newly written Will. I didn’t know if it would stand up in a court of law, but we had paid lawyers on our side. Marshall, Backham, and Cole would ensure the paperwork would be lodged and executed. And then I would destroy their practice so they would never serve law to monsters such as my family again.

  Cut grunted in agony as he signed his name; his signature almost illegible. Remembering what else lived in this barn, I hauled myself to my feet for the second time. “Wait there.”

  I returned with a handheld video recorder and new battery that’d been stored in the safe away from vermin. I didn’t let myself remember why there was a recording device in here.

  Ripping open the battery casing, I inserted it into the device, and turned it on.

  The first thing that came up was the last filmed event.

  Me.

  Stored in this tiny recorder was what happened once Jasmine’s back had been broken. I remembered the day in crystal clarity. It was never Cut’s intention to hurt his daughter so much.

  The video unspooled, crackling with sound.

  Jasmine looked at me. “Kite…I can’t feel my legs.”

  Instantly, Cut shed his pompous strictness of emperor of our estate and become a terrified parent instead.

  He rushed to release my binds, not caring I crunched into the dirt once he’d loosened the leather. Once, I was free, he scooped up Jasmine and darted toward the exit.

  “We’ll go to the hospital, Jazzy. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

  All he cared about was fixing what he’d done.

  But I didn’t let him get far.

  I snapped.

  I became like him. I craved his pain after what he’d done to my baby sister.

  I wasn’t proud of what I’d done. My hands trembled as the video-tape showed a devil-child leap onto his father’s back and beat him over and over and over again with the club he’d used on Jasmine.

  I stared transfixed as the tape continued, transforming me from abused to abuser as Cut fell on the floor, covering his face and hands.

  I could’ve killed him that day and I would've if Jasmine hadn’t screamed for me to stop.

  Hearing her terror wrenched me from the blood cloud I’d swam in, putting her first rather than making my father pay.

  I’d scooped her in my arms and charged to the Hall. I’d been the one to get Jasmine to the hospital all while Cut lay unconscious in the barn.

  “Turn it off.” Cut closed his eyes, cringing against the scratchy noises of the recording.

  I couldn’t breathe properly as I fumbled with the machine and switched it from memory card to fresh start.

  Neither of us mentioned what we’d just seen or the past feelings of the incident. We knew who’d won that night and as a kid I’d expected harsh retribution. But Cut hadn’t punished me. He’d pretended nothing had happened even while bruises marked his skin. He’d continued with my lessons but didn’t hurt me any more than normal.

  It was as if he wanted to be hurt for what he’d done to Jaz.

  Clearing my throat, I held up the lens and pointed it at Cut.

  The screen bounced in my hold, but it would have to do.

  This was my insurance policy.

  Cut understood immediately and dropped his head to the notepad I’d tossed in his lap. He fortified himself from our strained relationship and read my scrawled writing—for Jasmine and Kes and future heirs of Hawksridge Hall.

  Occasionally, he looked up, reciting his pledge while staring into the camera. More often than not, his eyes remained downcast, reading his Last Will and Testament quickly.

  My hands only shook harder the closer he got to finishing. My fever fogged my eyesight, and his voice threatened to put me in a trance.

  I needed to rest and fast.

  Finally, he finished.

  Once his declaration was verbalized, I turned off the camera and placed it beside me for safe-keeping.

  I looked at the same speck he stared at, unable to move forward but knowing I had no choice. “Thank you. Not for me, but for Jaz and the workers we employ. You’ve kept them in their homes and jobs.”

  A thought pricked me.

  I’d planned on dismantling the diamond smuggling ring once Cut was dead, but his unselfish act of preserving the company and giving back my birthright reminded me it wasn’t a matter of shutting down something just because I wanted to. We had people relying on us. I had to do right by them. I couldn’t steal their livelihoods.

  “Take care of those you love, Jethro.” Cut coughed. “Don’t ever let corruption turn you into me.”

  His words said one thing, but his heart another. He’d done what he’d been taught. But now, he wanted to go. He wa
nted the pain to stop, and I wouldn’t deny him that.

  He’d done what any human would do on their death bed. Apologised for past transgressions and accepted forgiveness for those he violated.

  His soul was no longer burdened.

  Picking up the knife once again, I placed my hand over his, squeezing his useless fingers around the hilt. His tendons and ligaments were no longer attached to signals from his brain. Completely disabled for the rest of his short life.

  His eyes met mine. “You’ll do it, after all?”

  I shook my head, guiding his hand to hover over his heart. “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I can’t kill you, but I can’t allow you to live in such pain any more.” My own bones howled in sympathy. My spine ached and brain overwhelmed with agony.

  “You’ll help me?”

  I nodded.

  “You’re a good son, Kite.” His head fell forward, using up the last of his energy. His lips landed on my forehead and kissed me.

  I sucked in a breath, fighting against everything that’d passed between us. I accepted his kiss. His blessing. We held an entire world in a silent conversation.

  I wished there was another way. I wished I didn’t have to do this.

  But Cut nodded, signalling he was ready.

  Who was I to deny his final wish when I’d taken so much from him?

  Without breaking eye contact, I leaned on his fist, puncturing his heart with the sharp blade.

  So much pain to make him see.

  And now, a quick death to make him free.

  His forehead furrowed as the knife sank into his chest. He groaned as I twisted the hilt, tearing through the muscle and killing him as fast as possible.

  He’d already suffered enough. I wanted him to leave without pain.

  His forehead touched mine as I bowed over his dying form. His pulse thundered in his neck. His soul clung tight to his perishing body. And as the final gasp left his broken chest, I closed my eyes and kissed his cheek.

  “Goodbye, Dad.”

  I did what I could never stomach and tethered myself to his last flickering thought. I held tight as he slipped into the afterlife. I lived his final farewell.

  His eyes shot their message as well as his heart. “Take care of those you love, Kite. Don’t ever doubt I was proud of you. So, so proud.”

  And then…he was gone.

  It didn’t take long to source enough kindling and set up a small pyre inside the barn.

  All I wanted to do was rest. To sleep. To forget. But I wouldn’t leave my father’s corpse undealt with. That would be sacrilege. His immortal soul was free. His mortal remains had to be, too.

  It took the last of my energy to move his dead body into the middle of the barn and rest it on top of the kindling. Once his hands were linked on his chest, and his broken limbs placed straight and true, I worked on building a last goodbye.

  Moving as quickly as I could, I wedged more tinder around his lifeless corpse. Trudging from forest to barn, I built up enough fuel to create a fire that would last all night, a fitting send-off for my cruel father.

  Once I’d buried Cut in branches, I hauled the rack closer, scooped every torture device off the table, and scattered them around him. After the fire, I wanted no remains or reminders of what went on in this place.

  Stepping back, I checked my handiwork before moving toward the utility cupboard storing bleach and gasoline. The bleach had been for blood and the gasoline for the bonfires we’d occasionally had out here to cull a few trees.

  Fighting the dregs of energy in my system, I poured the sharp smelling petrol over my father’s corpse, the rack, the floor, the very walls of the despicable barn.

  Only once every item and inch of the place had been drenched did I strike the match.

  Taking the camera and Cut’s last confession to a tree a safe distance away, I returned to stand by the doors and fling the sulphur rich flame onto the slick trail of gasoline.

  Nothing happened.

  The flames didn’t catch. They went out.

  Fuck.

  My hands shook hard as I struck another match—letting the fire chew some of the stick before tossing it to the glistening floor.

  This one worked.

  The sudden whoosh of heat and orange exploded into being, rippling along the liquid path I’d set, eagerly consuming the tinder I’d given.

  The cold night warmed as I stood in the entry and let the fire take firmer root. I didn’t move as the crackle and singe of my father’s skin caught fire. The smell of human remains burning and the whiff of smoke didn’t chase me away.

  I stayed vigil until the woods glowed red with heat and the air became thick with soot.

  And still I stood there.

  Smoke curled higher in the sky, blotting out the moon and stars.

  I stood sentry like the oaks and pines, watching the fire slowly eat its way along the floor and walls, devouring everything in its fiery path, deleting the barn and its history.

  Watching my father char to ash, I couldn’t fight the memories of what I’d done. Of the stretching and breaking and pain I’d delivered. I buckled over, vomiting on the threshold. The intensity of what I’d lived through suddenly crushed me. I had no reserves left to ignore it.

  I’m sorry.

  I’m not sorry.

  He deserved it.

  No one deserved that.

  Stumbling away from the burning barn, I tripped and jogged through the forest to the lake where Nila had been strapped to the ducking stool. There, I fell to my knees, willing the past to fade.

  My body purged itself. Daniel’s death. Cut’s death. My mother’s death. Kes’s coma. Jasmine’s disability. And Nila’s torture.

  It’s all too much.

  Even from my sanctuary by the water, I could still smell smoke. The aftertaste of my father burning coated my throat, and my eyes smarted with ash.

  Throwing my head back, I glowered at the moon.

  I’d never have another birthday where I feared the cake was laced with cyanide.

  I’d never be sent back to the mental institute and kept prisoner in a straitjacket.

  I’d never have to worry about Jasmine being tossed from the Hall and left to fend alone.

  I’d never again bow to the wishes of a deranged family lineage.

  I’m free.

  Cut’s free.

  Those I love and fought for are free.

  Feeling more animal than human, I had no control as I crawled on all fours to the water’s edge. My hands squelched through the mud, moving like a beast. I gasped as I traded land for icy water. Waist deep then chest. I kept going until the mud switched to silt, welcoming rather than preventing.

  I kept going.

  Leaving ground and gravity, I slipped into weightless swimming.

  I didn’t try to stay on the surface. The moment I couldn’t feel the bottom beneath my shoes, I let go. I sank below, dunking into the cold darkness.

  I ran from everything, hiding in the pond.

  Holding my breath, the freezing temperature stole my pain and hunger, soaking through my blood-saturated jeans and cinder-coated jumper.

  With water above and all around me, I opened my mouth and screamed.

  I screamed and screamed.

  I screamed so fucking loud.

  I screamed for my father, my mother, my sister and brothers.

  I screamed for myself.

  Bubbles flew from my mouth.

  Salty tears mingled with fresh water and frogs sped away from my emotional unravelling.

  I screamed and yelled and cursed and shouted and only the depth could hear me.

  I poured forth my despair, my guilt, my condition, my fever, my battle-worn body.

  I sank deeper and deeper, permitting my liquid-logged clothes to take me to the murky bottom. Plant fronds tickled my ankles, bubbles erupted from my shirt, and my hands hovered in front of my face, white as death and just as cold.

  I focused on
my heartbeat—the only noise in the cavernous body of water. As seconds ticked on, it slowed…it steadied; it finally found its own rhythm away from tonight’s atrocities.

  Down there, I found something I’d been missing.

  Forgiveness.

  Only once my lungs burst for air did I kick off my shoes and push off the bottom. The rush of water over my skin washed me clean—not just from tonight but from everything. I hadn’t done it out of fun. I’d done it out of loyalty to those who needed to be fought for.

  I wasn’t vindictive or spiteful.

  I was justified.

  I was baptised anew.

  Breaking the surface, I gulped in greedy breaths, feeling a sense of rebirth. My tiredness faded, my wounds numbed, and I swam to look back the way I’d come.

  There, on the horizon, the angry reds, yellows, and ochres of a raging fire danced in the dark night sky. Smoke stole the Milky Way and fire cleansed Hawksridge.

  I hung in the snowy embrace of the water, just watching, always watching.

  I shivered. My teeth chattered. And I craved warmth and bed and Nila.

  I’d done what I needed to even though it almost broke me.

  I had nothing left to fear.

  Looking at Hawksridge Hall, my eyes found Nila’s bedroom. The light burned in her window, a lighthouse for my drowning sorrows, a beacon leading me back to her.

  I kicked toward the shore.

  I need you, Needle.

  I need you so fucking much.

  She would put me back together.

  She would understand what I’d done and accept me with no questions or ultimatums or tests.

  She would love me unconditionally.

  My heart calmed.

  My mind quieted.

  And finally, finally, finally, I found peace.

  THERE WAS A saying that humans were capable of knowing only one thing.

  One thing of ultimate, undeniable conviction where everything else—our thoughts, opinions, careers, likes, dislikes—even our entire lifespan of choices, were open to interpretation and amendments.

  Only one thing was irrefutable. That one thing was: we exist.

  We knew as a species—as an intelligent race of culture and history—that we lived and breathed and existed.

  Nothing else outside of that was fundamental, only the knowledge we were alive. It evolved us from animals because with our existence came awareness for what a gift life was.