For Centuries More

by Ethan Johnson

  “Sit down. Let’s talk,” she said.

  CHAPTER 52: CONFESSION

  James let out a long yawn and decided to call it a night. He wasn’t prepared to approach Aubra and patch things up, plus he figured she was asleep by now anyway. He hoped they could talk over breakfast. James made his way upstairs to return to his dorm room and approached an office used by the countess. The door was cracked open slightly and he lingered outside for a moment at the sound of voices. He heard her trilling society accent, and another male voice that he identified as belonging to the groundskeeper, who he knew little about, other than his short temper and gruff demeanor.

  Not to mention the bed-wetting incident.

  “Confession is good for the soul, Eugene. May I call you that?”

  “Gene is fine.”

  “Very well. Gene, I’ve had my eye on you for some time now. What I have come to understand is you are hurting, Gene. Tell me, what is it that ails you so?”

  “With all due respect, lady, that’s none of your damn business.”

  The countess laughed. “Please, call me Helen. And respectfully in turn, when I find one in our ranks is hurting, it behooves me to tend to his or her needs. Come now, Gene, what troubles you? Tea?”

  James suppressed a sarcastic snort. This wasn’t the tone she’d been taking with him. With each failure to turn stone into gold, she became less patient with him and more disappointed, setting off a downward spiral of anxiety and eroding his self-confidence. Not that he was brimming with it normally, he noted, but he wondered why she was so conciliatory with Gene the groundskeeper.

  “No thanks. I’m a scotch guy.”

  “Well, I’ll see what I can scrounge up for you. Shall I ring for some refreshments? Might that set you at ease?”

  James sucked in his breath. He wanted to hear more but didn’t want to be discovered by the countess or anyone else.

  “I’m fine. If you don’t mind, it’s been a long day, and I’ve got floors to buff tomorrow. I’m ready to hit the sack.”

  James heard rustling sounds from within the office. The countess’s tone took on a sharp edge of urgency.

  “Please, please, sit for just a moment more. Please. There you go, that’s better. I understand you work hard to keep everything ship-shape here, and I for one greatly appreciate it. Of course, we all need to tend to our personal concerns as well. Healthy, wealthy, and wise, these are paramount. But, Gene, wise! To be wise is to know one’s self. Can you truly be at rest when your mind is troubled? Unburden yourself, Gene. Talk to me, and I will help you in any way I can.”

  Gene heaved a heavy sigh. James drew nearer to the door.

  “I, uh, lost someone.”

  “Lost them how, Gene? Be specific.”

  “I really don’t know how to explain it. Let’s just say she passed away suddenly, and it’s been a tough loss. I’m still working through it, trying to understand.”

  “Illness. Yes, on the surface it seems opaque but beneath the surface, Gene, answers are writ large. Sickness on its own is just a symptom of another problem, but death, why, that’s the ultimate surrender. This is why we must be vigilant, and willing to speak the truth. We cannot allow ourselves to be anything less than our most perfect selves. Do you understand?”

  “Not really. She wasn’t sick.”

  “Ah, she. My apologies, Gene, perhaps I was a bit too hasty. Ah! Happens to the best of us. So it is—was a she, and she passed suddenly. If not from an illness, was it… tragic?”

  “Yeah, you could say that. Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got to turn in. I’ll give you five stars if anyone asks.”

  “Sit down, Eugene. We are not finished, and you have not been excused.” James jumped at the sharp tone with which she spoke. This was more like the countess he knew. He heard a chair creak and assumed Gene sat down as ordered. “There. I can ring for scotch, if you like. It won’t take but a moment.”

  “Yeah, fine. Rocks.”

  James hurried away from the door and waited for an elderly man in a brown suit to push a brass cart into the office, then exit empty-handed. He closed the door behind him and walked off. James swore under his breath and tiptoed back to the door. He grasped the knob and wondered if he could crack it open without anyone noticing. The knob was tight, and he couldn’t get it to turn easily. He pressed his ear against the door but only heard muffled sounds.

  James stepped away from the door again and smacked his forehead. There were other ways to eavesdrop, he reminded himself. He cursed himself for forgetting the tools he had at his disposal. The countess had a way of making him forget he was special, at least, if Mr. Steele was correct in his assessment.

  James made haste to his dorm and closed the door. He laid on his bed and clasped his hands against his chest. He grimaced and removed his glasses, setting them on a table beside his bed, then clasped his hands once more.

  Countess, he thought. Black smoke swirled around him and in an instant, he found himself transported to her desk. He stood beside it and watched her pour scotch into a cut crystal glass. Gene raised it and sipped. His eyes widened, and he reached for the bottle. “Fifty years? Holy smokes.”

  The countess raised her glass and touched it to her lips. James wasn’t sure she drank from it at all. Gene didn’t seem to notice, or care. She set her glass down and smiled genially across the desk.

  “Now then, Gene, I recall you were inching toward a breakthrough. Unburden yourself, Gene. My office is an oasis of privacy. No one will hear what you say but me.”

  James laughed aloud. Neither person reacted to his amusement.

  “Okay, yeah. She wasn’t sick. She was… let’s say she was murdered. I think that’s the best way to explain it.”

  “That’s not very specific, Gene. I can’t draw any meaningful conclusions unless you provide me with details. The facts, more to the point.”

  Gene nodded sullenly, then took a long sip from his glass. He swirled it in his hands and stared down into the brown liquid, populated with chunks of ice.

  James watched and listened as Gene told the story of garbage being thoroughly collected by a group of homeless people and how the mystery led him and his coworker Sharon to a building where it was being stored. They tried to get answers directly but were turned away. They decided to sneak in later that night, which led them to a room where people made clay bricks for some reason. When they tried to sneak out after observing an all-hands meeting, Sharon slipped and injured her knee. He tried to get her to safety, he said, but they locked him in a small room and he didn’t know what they did to her.

  The countess nodded along and patted his left hand empathetically. “But you said she passed away unexpectedly. You said it was murder. Did they kill her, Gene? Tell me what happened.”

  “No, and that’s the crazy thing. If they would have shot her, or slashed her throat or something, I could understand that. Respect it, even, in a weird way. We were sticking our nose where it didn’t belong, and we knew there could be consequences. Not that we thought anyone was gonna die.”

  “How did you learn of her death, Gene?” The countess leaned forward with great interest.

  “They… they brought me her head.”

  The countess looked horrified. “They… decapitated her? How horrific. Such barbarism! Truly, the evils of man know no depths.”

  “Well, no, not exactly. I think she died in one piece. It just… was less to carry, I think, when they brought it to me.”

  “I’m afraid I do not follow, Gene. Why on earth would they remove her head when they could just as easily have produced her body in its entirety, without resorting to such gruesome methods?”

  Gene drained his glass. His face reddened, and James felt a surge of compassion at the sight of him. He didn’t know how he would respond to a woman’s head being shown to him, but he imagined it would mess him up pretty badly. He chastised himself for not taking an interest in Gene as a person. Perhaps he would have found this out on his own and helped
him in some way. He resolved to do better going forward.

  The countess goaded him for an answer, and Gene slammed his empty glass on the desk. “There was no blood, that’s the thing. It wasn’t sick and gruesome, it was just… I can’t explain it, okay? Just leave it there. I’ve said enough.”

  The countess walked around the desk and knelt beside Gene. James floated beside them and stroked his back. Gene’s aura was dark red. Hers was an unpleasant shade of green. It reminded James of pus. His own aura glowed white, and each stroke of his hand seemed to lighten Gene’s aura ever so slightly.

  “Come now, Gene, you’re so close. Don’t run from this. If you run, where will you go? You are already miles from home. Miles from all that has been safe, and comfortable, and dear. It is time to stop running, Gene, and fight! Yes, stand your ground, here, at the manor. It is within these walls you will make your stand. Face this head—er, directly. Now: there was no blood because, why, exactly? Help me understand.”

  James snorted again. Seriously, where was all of this earlier, he thought darkly. His aura flashed dark red and he let the thought pass.

  Gene nodded. “There was no blood because… her head was… clay.” Tears spilled down his red cheeks.

  The countess leaned back on her heels. “Clay.”

  “I’m not crazy. I know what I saw. I know what they did. I just… I don’t know how they did it.”

  “And where was this?”

  “Chicago.”

  The countess suppressed a sneer, then composed herself to maintain a placid exterior. “I asked you to be specific, Gene. Where was this? Can you take me there?”

  Gene glowered at her. “I’m not going back there. Not now, not ever.”

  The countess patted his arm. “Of course not, dear. I should have used a better choice of words. My apologies. Trust me, I know what it’s like to have places it would be unpleasant to return to.”

  “Look, I can draw you a map. I don’t know the address, per se, but I know where it is. That’s the best I can do.”

  The countess strained to rise to her feet. “Very well, Gene, that will do nicely. It is important that we speak the truth, but for it to be the truth, it must be verified. I won’t ask you to go to the place,” she said as she produced a pen and paper from her desk and slid them over to Gene. “But it is imperative that I know where it is. For Sharon, you see. She must have justice, or her soul shall never be at peace. Neither will yours.”

  Gene nodded and drew a rudimentary map. “That’s all I know. Can I go now?”

  The countess nodded at the map. “Yes, Gene, I believe that shall be enough for this evening. Be well.”

  Black smoke swirled around James and he returned to his physical body. He reached over to put on his glasses, then yelped at the sight of Aubra standing beside him.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  CHAPTER 53: MEDIATION

  When Jacqueline sat down on the sofa, Gracie popped up and tried to brush past Annabella. “I’m out of here.”

  Annabella grabbed her arm and prevented her escape. She guided her back to the sofa and sat her down. “Stay,” she said firmly, then pulled a chair over from the dining room. She placed it on the other side of a cheap but functional coffee table and sat down, giving each woman a hard stare.

  Jacqueline started to speak, but Annabella raised her hand to shush her, then took a deep breath. “Okay, look. I know I’m new here, and this isn’t my business, but I’m not going to sit idly by and watch a family fall apart. Especially when it’s concerning someone I care about.” She looked at Gracie as she said the last sentence, who in turn crossed her arms tightly and looked away.

  Jacqueline shifted in her seat and began to stand up. “I have more productive uses of my time. I won’t stand for any further humiliation.”

  Annabella cocked her head. “Talking things out with your sister isn’t productive?”

  “As you’re well aware, I am not her sister anymore. And I have a business to run. I’m leaving.”

  Annabella sighed and threw her hands up. “Whatever you say, quitter. I won’t keep you here.”

  Jacqueline froze as she reached for the front door. She shot Annabella a scornful look and said firmly, “I’m not a quitter.”

  “She says, walking out on her family. Goodbye, quitter. Safe travels home.”

  Jacqueline stomped toward Annabella and raised her finger. “Firstly, I am not walking out on family. My family is back in New York. Secondly, how dare you call me a quitter when you know nothing about me. For your information, I was Magna Cum Laude at Harvard, a National Merit Scholar, and have received the prestigious—”

  Annabella raised her hand. “Yes, all that is very impressive. What isn’t impressive is walking away when there’s a chance at making things right. I don’t know you, that’s true. I’ve seen enough to know I don’t like you.”

  Gracie pumped her fist, prompting a scowl from Jacqueline.

  Annabella continued, gesturing to the empty spot on the sofa. “That’s because I’m judging you on the past, oh, ten minutes. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not impressed. You dismissed our relationship. You badgered your other sister for some reason and hurt her. I don’t blame Gracie for throwing you out. If someone did that to my brother, I’d be furious too.”

  Gracie looked at her, surprised. “You have a brother?”

  Jacqueline sat and pressed her knees together as she tugged at her skirt. “That’s quite a deep relationship you have there.”

  “Bite me, Fortune.” Gracie curled her lip in disgust.

  Annabella nodded. “Yes, and yes. His name is Girard. And we’re still getting fully acquainted. There’s no shame in that. We all start somewhere.” She glanced at Jacqueline’s left hand. “Did you know everything about your husband when you first met?”

  Jacqueline fidgeted with her ring. “He was not unfamiliar to me. I’d read a few profiles in Forbes and Business Advantage and put out feelers to determine the feasibility of attending the same conference. A few months later, he was receiving an award for innovative excellence and I pulled as many strings as it took to be seated right up front. I caught his eye, and after the ceremony he introduced himself.” Her eyes became misty at the memory of that auspicious occasion.

  “Barf city,” Gracie said, pretending to stick her finger down her throat. Annabella turned to her sharply.

  “Your sister is speaking. You’ll get your turn soon enough.” Gracie twirled her finger, rolled her eyes, and turned away again. Annabella shifted in her chair to point her knees toward Jacqueline. “I take it you’re used to getting your way. You’re always out to achieve something. Another award, another goal, another accomplishment. True?”

  Jacqueline nodded. “I never wanted things to be like before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before Marc was born. Lauren won’t have any memory or appreciation of this, but we used to be dirt poor. Father was only pulling down $10,000 a year for a family of three. We had a black-and-white television for years until he could finally afford color.”

  Gracie snorted. “Who cares what color the TV is? Look, ours is black. Woo. Does that make me a box person?”

  Annabella smiled. “She meant the screen. I haven’t seen a black-and-white TV in years.”

  “I don’t think they make them anymore. I saw an ad for an ARCTURUS Realizta HD TV for $100 the other day. I don’t think televisions are as hard to come by as they were back then.”

  “Well, I don’t know that $10,000 a year necessarily qualified as dirt poor in those days, but I get your point. Your family had to make sacrifices to get by. You’re older than Gracie, so it’s fair to say she came along when times weren’t so tough. Is that true as well?”

  Jacqueline nodded. “She has no idea how good she had it. I didn’t want my family to suffer the way I did. Marc is fourteen years younger than I am. Do you know why? Because our parents couldn’t afford to have any more children. All my girlfriends growing
up had brothers and sisters, and the fights that went along with that,” she looked over at Gracie and gave her a wan smile, “but it was just me, for years. Then I got a little brother right when I was in high school and focused on getting into the best university on a full-ride scholarship. I achieved my goal, and Mother cried for hours over the acceptance letter from Harvard. I was sixteen.”

  “That’s quite an accomplishment,” Annabella said. “You worked hard.”

  “You’re damned right I did. I put in the hours. I missed out on the parties and the things my friends were doing. One by one, they fell away as I focused on my goal of graduating top of my class.” Her voice began to waver. “But I missed other things as well. Before I knew it, Marc was walking and talking. He called me ‘Jee-jah’ because he couldn’t say my name properly. I think he was five or six when he finally pronounced my name correctly, but a small part of me missed Jee-jah.”

  Annabella stepped aside and snatched a roll of paper towel from the closest countertop. She tore off a sheet and handed it to Jacqueline, who nodded appreciatively. She dabbed her eyes and continued.

  “Agnes came along about two years after Marc. It was sometime after I got the letter from Harvard. By then, I was so focused on keeping my GPA high and piling on the extracurricular activities. I worked summer jobs to help pay for the extra tuition costs associated with filling my course load with advanced placement and honors courses. I never really saw Agnes. She was either sleeping in Mother’s arms, or in a playpen, or in her crib. Sometimes a study partner would come over and we’d look in on her, but it was like walking past an exhibit at the zoo, as I recall. Poor kid.”

  Gracie snorted. “No kidding.”

  CHAPTER 54: CORRECTION

  James felt his throat turn to chalk. Despite this, he swallowed and nodded to Aubra. “Yeah, we do. Listen, Aubra, about before—”

  Aubra shook her head. “I’m not here to discuss that. You have lost your way. I have come to turn you to the path.”