Final Debt

by Pepper Winters

  I love her already. Just like I love you.

  Never forget that friendships are forever.

  I’ll see you again, Kite.

  I’ll always be around.

  I didn’t cry, even though my soul raged at the unjust and loss. My hands shook as I folded the letter and placed it carefully into its envelope. Kes had written the note before we claimed Nila. He’d sat alone one night and penned a letter to be delivered after his death.

  How had he managed to pour so much into a few short paragraphs? How had he known exactly what to say?

  If only he’d written it after he met Nila.

  He would know what he predicted came true.

  Nila was my everything.

  She’d replaced Kes as my crutch, and I would never take her for granted like I did him.

  Never.

  The breeze blew gently, smelling sweetly of hay from the stables.

  I closed my eyes and just rested in the moment. No thoughts. No concerns. I let life exist around me and stole a few short seconds to connect with my dead brother.

  You’re still here, Kestrel.

  I feel you.

  Another few days passed and life found a new rhythm.

  The Black Diamond brothers sorted out their own hierarchy. I put Flaw in charge as temporary president and he culled the members who didn’t want to walk on the right side of the law. Those we paid handsomely, made them sign non-disclosure agreement guaranteeing hefty punishments if they spoke out of turn, and let them leave the club.

  As our membership was always about diamonds and business, no one had to be unpatched or excommunicated from the brotherhood. They were just employees searching for new work.

  One night, once we’d all eaten—Weavers and Hawks sharing a table in the red dining room where so much pain had occurred—I took Nila by the hand to our quarters. Once upon a time, my rooms had been called the bachelor wing, but now, they were our matrimonial suite. A honeymoon before I made her my wife.

  We entered the wing. However, instead of taking her to bed, I gave her a key.

  Standing at the base of a small staircase leading to a storage floor above, her black eyes met mine with confusion. “What’s this?”

  I smiled softly, wrapping her fingers around the key. “The past week I’ve managed to put some of my past behind me. It’s time for you to do the same.” Gathering her in a hug, I murmured, “Time to let the past go so we can all move on and heal.”

  I didn’t want to think about what she’d find up there. She had to face it. Just like I’d faced Cut.

  She let me hug her, her desire for me building the longer we touched. I couldn’t put this off anymore. I’d already put it off too long.

  Pulling away, I let her go, dragging a hand through my hair.

  She frowned, twirling the key in her fingers. “What does it open?”

  Something you won’t want to see.

  Climbing the first few rungs of the steps, I held out my hand for her to follow. “I’ll show you.”

  She silently chased me up the twisting stone staircase, nervousness layering her thoughts the higher we strode.

  We didn’t bump into anyone. There was no fear of being caught by snooping cameras or hiding from madmen with death threats. Just an ordinary house and an ordinary night. About to do a very unordinary thing.

  Nila slowed the higher we climbed. “Where are we going?”

  I didn’t look back. If I did, I’d second-guess the intelligence of what I was doing. It wasn’t my choice to decide if this was wrong. It was Nila’s. “Almost there.”

  When we arrived on Cut’s third floor, she faltered. “Tell me.”

  Grabbing her hand, I tugged her down the plush carpeted corridor. Up here no artwork or embroidery decorated the space. These rooms were the unseen part of the Hall. The place where secrets were stored and debts were hidden for eternity.

  “You’ll see.” I led Nila further down the corridor, stopping outside a room she hadn’t been permitted to enter. This wasn’t just a room but a tomb of memories. There were still so many unexplored parts of the Hall. She’d only visited a fraction of my home and most rooms were welcoming and just like any other.

  But not this one.

  This one housed nightmares.

  The storage mecca of every debt extracted.

  The carved door depicted roses and tulips, similar to the awful flower arrangements Bonnie had enjoyed. The moment the contents were cleared, I would destroy the door, too.

  Taking the key from Nila’s suddenly shaking fingers; I inserted it into the lock and opened the door. The soft snick of the mechanism made me swallow hard. I felt as if I trespassed on things I shouldn’t, entering a realm not meant for me. “After you.”

  My heart thudded at the seriousness on her face. “What—what’s in there?”

  I looked briefly at the carpet, forcing myself not to drown in her sudden fear. “An ending of sorts, or a beginning, depending on how you look at it. Either way, you need to see and decide for yourself.”

  Straightening her shoulders, holding onto non-existent bravery, she brushed past me.

  Her eyes widened as I switched on the light, drenching the wall-to-wall cabinets of files. In the centre were a large table, a TV, VCR, and DVD player.

  Everything she’d need to read and witness decades of hardship.

  Nila covered her mouth as realisation came swift. “It’s all here. Isn’t it?”

  I nodded, steeling myself against her sudden outwash of rage. “It is.”

  “I can’t—I don’t….” She backed away. “Why did you bring me here?”

  Stalking forward, I opened the one cabinet where I’d seen Cut deposit all things relating to Emma.

  Nila stepped again, her bare feet tripping with a sudden wash of vertigo. I rushed to her side, but she pushed me away, balancing herself with practiced ease. “Jethro…I don’t. I don’t think I can look.”

  “I’m not saying you have to. I’m giving you the option if you wish, that’s all.” I moved back to the filing cabinet and grabbed the largest file. Carefully, I carried it to the table. “It’s your call, Nila.” Heading to the door, I murmured, “I love you. Remember that. Come find me when you’re ready.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I smiled sadly, hating leaving her but knowing she had to do this on her own. She needed to say goodbye, consolidate the horror of what my father did, and work through her hate to come back to me. “Tomorrow is Kes’s funeral. Tonight, we should have one for your ancestors. Send the dead away all at once, eradicate the estate of the ghosts living in its walls.”

  For the longest moment, she stared. She didn’t say a word. She looked as if she’d bolt or fly out the window. Then, finally, an accepting tear rolled down her cheek. “Okay.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I turned and closed the door behind me.

  Heading down the stairs and away from the Hall, I disappeared into the woodland and gathered branches, kindling, and twigs for the largest bonfire Hawksridge had ever seen—minus the barn that’d wiped Cut from existence.

  I enlisted the help of Black Diamond brothers and carted every torture equipment and vile method of pain onto the lawn, ready to be burned.

  The Iron Chair, Scold’s Bridle, Heretic’s Fork, Ducking Stool, whips, thumb screws—every mortal thing.

  I didn’t want such heinous items living beside us any longer.

  Hawksridge Hall would evolve with us; it would embrace happiness and learn to accept sunshine rather than darkness.

  Nila might be in a room full of ghosts.

  But I intended to purge them free with fire.

  “DO YOU ACCEPT the payment for this debt?”

  Cut’s voice echoed in the room, sending chills down my spine.

  Silent tears oozed down my cheeks as the old video played footage of my mother and him. She stood in a pentacle of salt beside the pond. The ducking stool hovered in t
he background and the white shift she wore fluttered around her legs.

  The memories of the day I’d paid the Second Debt merged with the horrifying scene before me.

  She held herself like I had that day: hands balled, chin defiantly high.

  “No, I don’t accept.” Her voice was lower than mine, huskier and more determined. She’d said in one of her diary entries that I was a stronger woman than her.

  I didn’t agree.

  My mother was royalty. She might not wear a crown and blue blood might not flow through her veins, but to me, she was so queenly she put Bonnie to shame.

  Bonnie was younger, her hair not quite white and her back not as bent. She clasped her hands in front of her, watching the altercation between Emma and Cut. The way Cut stared at my mother belied the lust he felt for her. His fingers grew white as he fisted, regret shadowing his gaze.

  Regret?

  Cut turned out to have so many avenues and trapdoors. I’d always believed he was mad. A barking, raving lunatic to do what he did. But what if he became who he was because of circumstance? What if he fell for my mother just like Jethro fell for me? What forced him to take Emma’s life if he loved her?

  “Get on with it,” Bonnie snapped when Cut didn’t move.

  He flinched, but it was Emma who forced Cut to obey.

  She scrunched up her face and spat on his shoes. “Yes, listen to the wicked witch, Bryan. Do as you’re told.”

  Acres of unsaid tension existed between them. They had a connection—strained and confusing—but linking them regardless.

  Cut cocked his head. “You know your orders don’t work on me.”

  My mother balled her hands. Her perfect cheekbones and flowing black hair defied the whistling wind, hissing into the camera like a thousand wails. “Do your worst, Bryan. I’ve told you a hundred times. I’m not afraid of you, of your family, of whatever debts you make me pay. I’m not afraid because death will come for all of us and I know where I’ll be.”

  She stood proudly in the pentagon. “Where will you be when you succumb to death’s embrace?”

  Cut paused, the grainy image of his face highlighting a sudden flash of nerves, of hesitation. He looked younger but not adolescent. I doubted he’d ever been completely carefree or permitted to be a child.

  Bonnie ruled him like she’d ruled her grandchildren—with no reprieve, rest and a thousand repercussions.

  “I’ll tell you where I’ll be.” Cut stormed forward. His feet didn’t enter the salt, but he grabbed my mother around the nape. The diamond collar—

  My fingers flew to the matching diamonds around my throat.

  The weight of the stones hummed, almost as if they remembered their previous wearer.

  —the diamond collar sparkled in the sunlight, granting prisms of light to blind the camera lens, blurring both her and Cut.

  In that moment, something happened. Did Cut soften? Did he profess his true feelings? Did my mother whisper something she shouldn’t? Either way, he let her go. His shoulders slouched as he looked at Bonnie.

  Then the sudden weakness faded and he stiffened with menace. “Accept the debt, Emma. And then we can begin.”

  My hand fumbled for the remote control, my cast clunking on the table-top.

  I can’t do this.

  Once Jethro had delivered me into the room, I hadn’t been able to move. My feet stuck to the floor, my legs encased in emotional quicksand. I couldn’t go forward, and I couldn’t go back.

  I was locked in a room full of scrolls and videos.

  For a second, I’d hated Jethro for showing me this place. I knew a room such as this must exist. After all, Cut told me he kept countless records and their family lawyers had copies of every Debt Inheritance amendment.

  But I hadn’t expected such meticulous documents.

  Stupidly, I thought I would be strong enough to watch. To hold my mother’s hand all these years later and exist beside her while she went through something so terrible.

  In reality, I wasn’t.

  These atrocities didn’t happen to strangers. These debts happened to flesh and blood. A never-ending link to women I was born to, shared their hopes and fears, ancestors who donated slivers of their souls to create mine.

  But I had to stay because I couldn’t keep them shut in the dark anymore. If I didn’t release their recorded forms, they’d be forever locked in filing cabinets.

  Pointing the controller at the TV, I stopped the tape as Cut ducked Emma for the second time. I’d been with her while Cut delivered the history lesson. I’d hugged her phantom body as she awaited her punishment. But I couldn’t watch any more of her agony. I couldn’t sit there and pretend it didn’t shatter me. That while my mother was almost drowned, I’d been alive hating her for leaving my father.

  Forgive me.

  Forgive me for ever cursing you. I didn’t know.

  Leaning over the table, I ejected the cassette and inserted the tape back into its sleeve.

  I’d gone through her file. I’d watched the beginning of the First Debt and fast-forwarded over the whipping. I’d spied on security footage of Emma strolling through the Hall like any welcome guest. I held my breath as she sewed and sketched in the same quarters where Jethro had broken, made love to me, and told me what he was.

  I couldn’t watch anymore.

  Whatever went on in her time at Hawksridge was hers to keep. It wasn’t right to voyeur on her triumphs over Cut or despair over her moments of weakness. It wasn’t for me to console or judge.

  My mother’s presence filled my heart, and in a way, I felt her with me. My shoulder warmed where I imagined she touched me. My back shivered where her ethereal form brushed past.

  I’d summoned her from the grave and held her spirit, ready to release her from the shackles of the catalogue room.

  I have to free them all.

  Shooting out of my chair, I rubbed my sticky cheeks from unnoticed tears and rushed to the other filing cabinets. Each one was dedicated to an ancestor.

  I couldn’t catch a proper breath as I yanked open metal drawers and grabbed armfuls of folders. Working one-handed slowed me down. I dropped some; I threw some, scattering them on the table.

  Cursing my cast, I lovingly touched every page, skimmed every word, and whispered every sadness.

  Time flowed onward, somehow threading history with present.

  Jethro was right to leave.

  As a Hawk, he wouldn’t be welcome.

  The longer I stood in that cell, the more I battled with hate.

  Folder after folder.

  Document after document.

  I made a nest, surrounded by boxes, papers, photographs, and memorabilia from women I’d never met but knew so well.

  Kneeling, I sighed heavily as their presence and phantom touches grew stronger the more I read. Their blood flowed in my veins. Their mannerisms shaped mine, their hopes and dreams echoed everything I wanted.

  No matter that decades and centuries separated us, we were all Weavers taken and exploited.

  My jeans turned grey with dust, my nose itchy from time-dirtied belongings.

  Lifting images from the closest file, I stared into the eyes of an ancestor I didn’t recognise. She was the least like me from all the relatives I had. She had large breasts, curvy hips, and round face. Her hair was the signature black all Weaver women had and looked the most Spanish out of all of us.

  So much pain existed in her eyes. Trials upon trials where the very air solidified with injustice and the common hatred for the Hawks.

  I didn’t want to sit there anymore. I didn’t want to coat myself in feelings from the past and slowly bury my limbs in an avalanche of memories, but I owed it to them. I’d told my ancestors I would set them free, and I would.

  Tracing fingertips over grainy images, I worshipped the dead and apologised for their loss. I spoke silently, telling them justice had been claimed, karma righted, and it was time for them to move on and find peace.

  My fingert
ips smudged from pencil and parchment, caked in weathered filth. The video recordings ceased the earlier the years went on. Photographs lost pigment and clarity, becoming grainy and sepia.

  I hated the Hawks.

  I hated the debts.

  I even hated the original Weavers for condemning us to this fate.

  So many words.

  So many tears.

  Reading, reading, reading…

  Freeing, freeing, freeing…

  There wasn’t a single file I didn’t touch.

  The eerie sense of not being alone only grew stronger the more I opened. The filing cabinets went from full to empty. The files scattered like time-tarnished snowflakes on the floor.

  I lost track of minutes and had no clock to remind me to return to my generation. I remained in limbo, locked with specters, unwilling to leave them alone after so long.

  Eventually, my gaze grew blurry. The words no longer made sense. And the repetition of each woman paying the same debts merged into a watercolour, artfully smearing so many pasts into one.

  By the time I reached the final box, photographs had become oily portraits. The last image was cracked and barely recognisable, but I knew I held the final piece.

  The woman who’d started it all.

  The original Weaver who’d sent an innocent girl to death by ducking stool and turned a blind eye to everything else.

  She didn’t deserve the same compassion as the rest of my ancestors—she’d condemned us all. But at the same time, enough pain had been shed; it was time to let it go.

  They all deserved peace.

  The small space teemed with wraiths of my family, all weaving together like a swirling hurricane. The air gnawed on me with ghoulish gales from the other side.

  Taking a deep breath, I re-entered the land of the living. I moaned in discomfort as I stood. My knees creaked while my spine realigned from kneeling on the floor like a pew at worship, slowly working my way through a temple of boxes.

  I didn’t believe in ghosts walking amongst us but I couldn’t deny the truth.

  They were there.

  Crying for me. Rejoicing for me. Celebrating the end even though they’d paid the greatest price.