To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  “Tell me how you really feel. Sheesh,” he grumbled, and I laughed, which made him chuckle.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, nodding at his phone.

  His eyes grew slightly serious, and I could see a struggle happening inside him. I’d gotten used to seeing him look like that, in the last few months, since everything went down with Lazarus. His face frequently radiated confusion; a distressed lack of answers to all sorts of questions happening in his mind.

  I wanted to beg him to just talk to me about it. To ask me his questions and see if maybe I could help. I knew I was responsible for tearing him up, but all I wanted in the world was to help him fix it. It was the least I could do.

  After moments of silence, he sighed and shook his head. “Everything is wonderful, Trace. I know things have been a bit… strained lately. But I want you to know that I love you, more than anyone or anything in the whole damn world. No matter what happens, that will never change. You know?”

  I gulped down my emotions and nodded. “I know. I love you the same way, Dad. Forever and always.”

  He graced me with a wide, beaming smile and hummed, “Forever and always.”

  And that was the end of it. Our last real conversation.

  The next morning, he came out to the pool where I was doing my morning yoga and said goodbye before work. He seemed… happy. Determined and centered.

  Seeing him like that gave me hope. I’d been praying for him to have peace, during my meditations. I’d been talking to Mom about it. All I wanted was for him to be happy, and to forgive, because that’s Damien Wright. And as it would seem, he was getting there.

  His life was taken that night.

  And here we are.

  “Not to seem impatient, but what exactly are we waiting for?” My grumpy Grandpa Dallas, Dad’s father, mutters, glancing at Dad’s lawyers, Stanley Welch and Bob Freeman.

  I’ve come to know them well over the years. Stanley is the one who does the talking, and Bob seemingly never speaks. I think he’s around strictly for paperwork.

  “We were waiting for Lazarus,” Stanley glances at his watch. “But I never got a response from him about the meeting…”

  “He’s not coming,” I interrupt. “So let’s get this over with.”

  All the adults in the room stare at me. My face is dead and devoid of emotions.

  I’ll play the Lazarus part, if that’s what they’re looking for.

  Stanley the talking lawyer clears his throat. “Alright then. Well, the company is left in its entirety to Mr. Weston, so I’ll need to do some paperwork with him. Damien also left all his financial rights to Lazarus, as his accountant, so he’ll handle his affairs, while the estate is left solely to Tracien. There are instructions for a sum of two million to be given to Peter and Francis Landon.” He pauses, gesturing to my Grandpas. “And another two million to be donated to his charity funds.”

  “Which charities?” Dad’s mom, Elenora, asks, and I jump in before Stanley can reply.

  “Pancreatic cancer research and treatment centers. And he had another one… The Westright Project. It was something he was sponsoring, assisting in mental health awareness for LGBTQ youth.”

  “Oh, right…” Frankie whispers, his mouth twisting into a sad smile as he looks at Pete. “We were going to plan a benefit out by us.”

  “I’ll help you with that,” I tell them, and they both smile.

  Frankie brushes my hair back with his fingers then grips my shoulder. It almost bursts me into tears, but I compose myself and channel my inner Lazarus.

  “Outside of that, the rest is pretty standard,” Stanley goes on, and it makes me want to low-key punch him in the gut.

  This isn’t standard. My father is dead. I hate that I have to do any of this, and I would give up every single cent of all this worthless money to have five more minutes with him.

  “Traci, sweetheart, what are you going to do with the house?” Elenora asks in that patronizing tone she always uses on me, as if I’m still a child.

  “I have to keep it,” I mumble, twirling my black hair between my fingers. “It’s all I have left of both of them.”

  “I don’t think you should live in this big house all by yourself, Moonbeam,” Frankie says with worry in his voice.

  “You’ll come stay with us,” Pete adds.

  My stomach tightens. I don’t want to leave Miami. Key West is fun to visit, but I can’t see myself living there. All my memories are here… I don’t want to let them go. Not yet.

  “She could come stay with us,” Elenora says. “Come to New York. Maybe a change of scenery will do you good.”

  Quietly, I’m seething. “I don’t want a change of scenery. I want to stay here. Miami is my home. It always has been.”

  “I know, sweetie, but we don’t think you should live alone,” Pete presses, gently of course, since he’s a calm guy. “And what with your recovery and all, you shouldn’t go back to living with your friends either. At least, not yet.”

  My blood is beginning to boil just a tad. I’m eighteen, dammit, and they’re acting like I’m twelve again.

  I know what the fuck is good for my recovery, and it’s definitely not moving to Key West, or New York. I need to be right fucking here.

  “I know this is a bit outdated,” Stanley interjects, noting the steam that’s about to blow from my ears. “But Damien had listed Lazarus as her primary guardian. He stated should anything happen to him, Traci is to fall under the care of her godfather, Lazarus Weston. I know she’s eighteen, but… If she wants to stay in Miami, possibly she could stay with him?”

  Everyone gapes at each other, then at me. Then each other. Then the floor. Then me.

  He wanted me to live with Lazarus?? Clearly this will is outdated.

  Yet despite how odd it sounds, my heart is reacting rather strongly to this idea.

  He’s all I have left. This house… And him. That’s it.

  “Live with… Lazarus?” Elenora blinks at her husband. “Really?”

  “Are we sure that’s a good idea?” Dallas grunts.

  “He’s not even here,” Pete adds. “What if he’s not okay with it?”

  “Babe, you know Lazarus,” Frankie cuts in. “He lives for Damien and Lia. He’ll do anything for this family. There’s no way he’d say no.”

  A pleased anticipation flutters through me. Even after everything I’ve been through with Lazarus, which these people definitely don’t know about, otherwise there’s no way they’d ever be considering letting me stay with him, the only place I can actually see myself living right now is with him.

  I love this house. It’s been my home forever. But it’s haunted by the two people who made me. It hurts to be here without them. The memories are painful. I know they’ll follow me wherever I go, but at least if I stayed at Laz’s house I could focus on other things.

  Like taking care of him.

  Lazarus needs me as much as I need him. Sure, it stings that he hasn’t said one word to me since Dad died, and even in the months prior. I haven’t spoken to him since the night he snuck out of my apartment in Little Haiti…

  That feels like an entire lifetime ago.

  Lazarus has been suffering this whole time, just like I have. And now we’re all each other has. We need to stick together, whether or not he sees that.

  “I want to live with Lazarus,” I say with confidence, standing up from my chair and walking to the door. “Stanley, get in touch with him, please, and arrange everything. I’ll move in this weekend.”

  Without another word, I leave my father’s study and go upstairs to my room to pack.

  Looks like I’m moving in with my godfather…

  All of our ghosts will be so pleased.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Traci

  Pulling up in my Audi, the house somehow looks even bigger and scarier than it did when I was a kid.

  I park next to Laz’s Maserati and gawk through the windshield, up at the monstrosity before me. This pla
ce is massive, and the exact opposite of what you’d expect a mansion on Bay Harbor Island to look like. Actually, it’s so different from the other homes in this community that when you drive up the long, winding driveway, it’s as if you’ve gone through a time warp.

  It’s dark, despite the endless sunshine in this state, and even the palm trees look ominous.

  Hopping out of the car, I grab one of my bags, leaving the rest for later as I march up the stone steps, lugging my heavy tote that contains all my most prized belongings. Things I didn’t want to leave in the house while I wasn’t there.

  I’ll have to stop by my house once a week just to check on the place and make sure everything is alright, but other than that, I’m not sure how long I’ll be away. I know I’m technically moving in here, but I can’t exactly picture myself living here forever…

  It looks like the kind of place where the second you step inside, the door slams shut on its own behind you and locks you in as a prisoner. Which is exactly why I’m swallowing over my dry throat as I approach the giant wooden door.

  A parrot in a nearby tree squawks and I almost pee my pants.

  Jesus, even the parrots here are creepy. Is it just me or does that thing sound like a crow?

  I let myself in, since I still haven’t spoken with Lazarus at all, and I have no idea if he’s here, if he’s awake, or if he’s even cognizant of the fact that I’m moving in today.

  To my surprise, Dad’s lawyer called me only an hour after our meeting the other day to tell me Lazarus agreed to let me stay. As nerve-racking as this entire ordeal has been, I can’t ignore the eager butterflies living in my gut for the past three days, while I was packing and getting ready.

  I’m excited and nervous to see Lazarus again. I’ve barely seen him in months, and the times when I did, it wasn’t exactly a reunion. I know he’s just as broken as I am right now. Hopefully, we can try to piece ourselves back together… together.

  While he agreed to let me live here, it would be foolish of me to assume Lazarus is as excited as I am. I tried texting him the other day to tell him what time I would be here, and ask if there was anything he needed me to bring over, assuming he must have unblocked my number.

  He didn’t.

  I haven’t been able to talk to him, and naturally he hasn’t called me. I don’t know where my room is, where I’m going or what I’m even doing as I wander into his home, slowly, like I’m nine years old again.

  I used to imagine that Lazarus’s robot vampire friends would attack me the moment I set foot in this place, and honestly, I’m getting a lot of those vibes right now. Not to mention it’s freezing in here. And dark.

  It’s like a museum, all marble floors, and the highest ceilings ever that make me feel so minuscule, I’m like an ant inside the Hall of Mirrors.

  The place is immaculately clean. Not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere, and quiet enough that all I can hear is myself breathing. It’s tripping me out, so I hold my breath as I walk toward a spiral staircase. I have to assume my bedroom is up there, but I really have no clue.

  It would be nice if the owner of the house would show himself, long enough to at least tell me where to drop my things.

  My patience runs dry as I call out, “Lazarus?”

  My voice literally echoes.

  “Lazarus?” I say again, glancing over my shoulder. “I’m here! Where am I supposed to go?”

  Nothing.

  “The least you could do is come out and say hello, you selfish -”

  A noise at the top of the stairs interrupts my muttering, and I freeze. My head bobs all over the place, but I see nothing. Against my better judgement, I keep climbing all the stairs - many many stairs - until I reach the top. There are two long hallways, one in each direction, and since I don’t know where I’m going, I choose left.

  Following the deserted corridor, I try each door knob along the way, but they all seem to be locked. No help. At the end, there’s a set of much larger double doors, but when I grab the handles and turn, I find them locked as well. I shake a few times, just to be sure, but these doors definitely aren’t for me.

  Is this Lazarus’s room? Is he in there?

  Running my fingers along the wood, I press my ear up to it slowly, listening for any sign of life behind it.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and a chill washes over me.

  I hear nothing, but for some inexplicable reason, I can feel something behind this door. Something dangerous, yet warm and intriguing. Something calling to me.

  It feels like him… “Lazarus?” I whisper to the wood.

  I can sense him on the other side; a palpable pain and suffering. The yearning he won’t let himself breach. Not again.

  The warmth dissipates suddenly, and I flinch, backing up quickly. An unwanted tension floods me out of nowhere, sparking unease.

  Shaking my head, I suck in air as I turn around and scurry back down the hall to the other wing. Here I find a few doors that open. Linen closets stocked with sheets, towels and toiletries, and at the very end, more double doors, not as big as the others, though equally fancy.

  Pushing them open, I’m met with light. It’s a shock to see, since the rest of the place is so damn dark. But in here, windows are open, curtains drawn with sunlight streaming inside. There’s a massive king-sized bed with a flowy black canopy draped over the side. It’s already made with a gorgeous pale pink comforter and all kinds of pillows.

  I set my bag down and step up to the bed, wasting no time flopping onto my back on top. The blankets are wonderfully cozy and smell like fresh fabric softener. This bed was made recently.

  I get back up and wander around, taking in the scenery. This room doesn’t match the theme of the house at all. The furniture in here is warm and homey; Cherrywood dresser, desk and armoire. There are candles everywhere, elegant lamps covered by colored shades, and even a Zen garden. A reading nook sits across the room by a window, set up with a chaise draped in pillows and fuzzy blankets.

  My jaw drags on the floor as I marvel over the beauty of this room. Everything is exactly as I would have set it up, if it were my own.

  I continue exploring, checking out the giant attached bathroom, with a clawfoot tub and separate massive shower stall, all Egyptian tiles and rose gold fixtures. Then I stumble into a walk-in closet that’s at least three times bigger than the one at my house. Twirling around in place, I notice some clothes hanging up in here, tags still on everything. Shoes, purses, and accessories line the floor. This closet looks like it’s been half-stocked already, for whom I have not the slightest clue.

  But as I tug the sleeve of a gorgeous sweater dress I’m planning to steal, I find it’s my exact size.

  This is so weird.

  Turning, I notice a small box resting on the ottoman which I choose to pick up and investigate. I’m just guessing this must be my room, because who else’s would it be?

  There’s no way he has some other woman living in this house with the same taste as me…

  My assumptions are confirmed when I open the box to find a bunch of polished stones. Healing crystals like quartz, hematite, and even some beautiful stud earrings made of Celestine.

  They’re all gorgeous, and I know without a shred of doubt that Lazarus left this for me. I wish he had also left a note, or a card or something to explain himself. As a matter of fact, it’d be nice if he’d just fucking talk to me. The least he could do is call me, since he’s still too much of an asshole to show his face.

  As pleased as I am with this room, I’m also pissed off. He knows I’m struggling right now, because he is too, the same damn way. And instead of coming to greet me like a good godfather guardian ex-lover whatever the hell, he’s hiding somewhere in his giant mansion, pouting by himself when we should be pouting together.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth, calming myself down a bit.

  He’ll come to me when he’s ready, I know it. He just needs a lit
tle time. It’s a good thing that I’m here. It has to be.

  This wasn’t a mistake.

  Right?

  Hours later, the sun has set on this bizarre day and I’m officially settled in my new home.

  For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought I was really going to have to carry all my bags up a zillion steep stairs by myself. But fortunately for me, a groundskeeper-type maintenance person showed up in time to catch me toppling over and offered his assistance.

  He brought all my bags upstairs to my room for me, and when I thanked him, I discreetly asked if he’d seen the owner of the house today. To which he informed me he hasn’t seen Mr. Weston in three weeks.

  No one has, according to this man. Not himself, the cleaning ladies or the chef who prepares the meals for the week.

  The maintenance guy, Juan, told me that the cleaning ladies know Lazarus has been here since they have access to his wing, and they’ve been tidying up after him. Though he says the chef has been putting all the meals in the freezer since Lazarus never seems to eat.

  And from what they’ve all seen, he never leaves the house. Yet they still don’t see him.

  It’s not as crazy as it sounds, being that this place is ginormous, and there are plenty of rooms available to hide out in while people come and go. What is odd is that he hasn’t left, he never eats, and he hides from humanity. None of those things scream healthy behavior to me.

  I explored the downstairs a bit today, checking out the living room, kitchen, library/office, home gym, and the backyard which I’ve seen before at the Westright parties. I forgot how amazing the pool is here. It has lights like ours does, only it’s an infinity with this rock cave looking thing you can swim through to a tiny alcove. I’ve never been in there before, but I’m dying to try it out.

  All the stress has me exhausted, so I came up to my room for bed, but now that I’m lying in here, I can’t sleep.

  I just can’t move past the fact that I’m in Lazarus’s house and I haven’t yet seen him. I haven’t seen him in a while… Well, I haven’t seen him looking regular in a while. The two times I saw him in the last five months weren’t exactly happy occasions, and he was acting anything but normal.