Inheritance

by Ellen Kefferty

  “Oh...,” he paused, his gaze wandered to the right then shot back to her, “how smart you are. I guess you know everything.” He raised his hands high once again and dramatically declared, “You had best kill me now.”

  She was being played. She knew it. But she didn’t know the game. Her father’s voice inside her head shouted, ‘just kill him, get it done!’

  It would be a trivial thing, mechanically, to fire a gun, but a moral threshold to kill a man. Even a justified killing ends a life. It imparts the same knowledge, the same experience, no matter what the reason. She would cross over from the majority who had never killed and join a minority which carried that knowledge around with them forever. Killing Gervase now struck her as easy. Living with it unimaginable. She clung to the final few minutes of ignorance, willing some kind of revelation to strike, some clarity on what lay before her. None came.

  She glanced out the arch windows and saw that the light was failing into darkness. She wanted it to be night, it would be easier then. She didn’t know why, it just would. It was only a short time to wait.

  “So...,” she cringed even as she spoke, “tell me, what have I got wrong?”

  “Nothing. Like I said. You know everything. Kill me now.”

  “You sent the car which tried to kill me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  “And you tried to shoot Samuel in his wedding bed?”

  “Not personally, no. But I own that I had a hand in it.”

  “And you ran the younger Thomas Faircote off the road?”

  “Again, not personally—you really have to stop thinking that I do everything myself! Good Lord, I’m nearly seventy.”

  “And the elder Thomas Faircote, the one who killed himself by leaping in front of a train, you planned that, too?”

  “Quite right, I did. I must admit that I’m impressed you found that one. It wasn’t so obvious and it was a long time ago.” He nodded like a schoolteacher praising a child. “Oh, but again, I had a helper. I suppose I wasn’t keen on doing the dirty work even when I was younger.”

  “Any others? Is that what I’ve missed? There were more murders?”

  “Well,” he hemmed and bent his mouth, “I can’t do your homework for you, can I?”

  She felt her hands tense once more. She thought of slapping him, striking him, forcing him to tell her everything he knew. There might have been some value to torturing him. She considered it for a moment. If only she could be sure to overpower him. She feared that she could no more bring herself to hurt him than to kill him.

  Then a memory came to her. Of Samuel, alone at the airport telling her the dreadful story of Gregory’s death. The accident that had become sinister. The uncertainty of the past in the light of new revelations.

  She had to know the truth. Samuel had to know. Gervase could not take it with him to the grave. She made herself a promise. It would her permission to shoot. If he had killed a boy barely out of childhood, what qualms could she have left?

  “Answer me this, Gervase. Did you kill Gregory?”

  His expression was blank. Then his eyes slowly swayed left and right. His mouth opened and then a measure of disgust swept over his face.

  “I...I’m sorry,” his tone was honest, apologetic, “it happens now that I’m older. I can’t help myself.”

  The answer made no sense. “What?”

  He looked down, then back up to meet her eyes. Following his lead she looked down likewise and immediately spotted a darkened patch on his trousers which grew slowly, glistening in the lamplight. He had wet himself.

  Her face also turned to disgust. Her eyes raised in time to see him reaching.

  Something in his grasp.

  “What...?”

  Then darkness.

  Edith’s head burnt back into existence. Her neck tore into her shoulders. Feeble awareness fought against pain to find the rest of her body. A weight on her back located the spine. The press of a wooden floor situated her breasts and stomach. The bond of her wrists, tightening every second, signalled her hands and arms. Writhing legs made up the whole.

  Then hearing.

  “Please don’t kick me. It won’t do you any good.” Gervase.

  Then smell.

  The stench of urine in a pool by her head. She tried to twist her nose away but pain was her captor. She screwed up her eyes, forcing the ache upward to the crown of her head. Reopening them any respite was lost. She tugged weakly at her bonds, the source of new and growing discomfort.

  “There’s no need, and no use.” His voice was soft and calm.

  She let her body fall limp, the moment of struggle having taken all her energy. Her head jerked and her eyes flinched shut as a wave of pain barrelled through her temple. She remembered she had been struck there. It came a second time, stronger. Her eyes scrunched tight, the pain flooded from ear to ear.

  “Nearly there.” He lightened his grip on her wrists. She was far too gone to take advantage.

  With a final tug her arms jolted. They were cinched together, from wrist almost to elbow. She opened her eyes and jostled her hands as much as possible. He had no hold upon them now at all, only the thick wale of a leather belt.

  “What have you done?” The coherency of her speech belied its weakness. Her indignation was mechanical. She knew the answer. It was not worth protesting.

  He leant down upon her. He laid a hand flat on one side of her head and raised the other. With a cruel swing he brought the heel of his hand crashing into her bruised temple.

  A tearing scream flew from her mouth, strewing spit on the floor. Her eyes once more screwed tight, sealed with tears. The ground beneath her slid in every direction. Only an alien hand on her ankles told her she was being dragged.

  She squinted with an agonized eye to see him draw a tieback from his curtains. She swayed her body, thinking to roll away, sensing only the threat and not the logic of her actions. A single shoulder lifted, then her head, before flopping back down.

  “It’s not perfect, I know.” He smiled as he stepped toward her brandishing the rope of the curtain tieback. He disappeared out of sight. Then his weight returned to her back. “It will have to do, for the moment. It won’t have to hold you long.”

  The soft braided rope snaked round her ankles. Loosely at first, then, with a jerk, to a tight bond. He wrapped the length round two or three times more, yanking tighter.

  When his movements were over she test her limbs automatically. None would move in the ways she first tried, and only with doubtful perseverance could she begin to twist her body and bend her knees. She gave up, exhausted and unsure of what there was to gain from continued struggle.

  “No. No. You can’t do this!” Tears renewed in her eyes and ran down her nose to the floor. “You can’t do this to me!”

  There was no negotiation. He kept his silence a few steps beyond her sight.

  His hands were upon her again, confident in his control, needing no violence. He looped a second rope between the first round her ankles, then threaded it through the belt cinching her arms. With a long, almost gentle, draw he brought the wrists and ankles towards one another. Then further, until they nearly met. A strong knot finished his work, having brought little new pain to his prisoner.

  He stood back and admired his work. She lay hog–tied. Improvised but sufficient. He reached out and tugged on the bonds.

  “Very nice.” He clapped himself. “Did you not want to say anything? I haven’t gagged you so feel free to speak.”

  She fixed her stare on him. Her head still pounded, though it was now a regular freight train of discomfort rather than a disastrous crash. It was all she could do keep the traces of pain from her expression, to hide what he must have anyway known. A tiny fragment of defiance.

  He knelt beside her head. “You know, I must say those ropes are very becoming of you. Sam could have used his money more wisely. I certainly would have.”

  “You know Sam hired me?” She missed the intent of
his words.

  “I know a lot.” He stood and smiled. “You know little. Very little. Less than I expected.”

  He took her by the ankles and dragged her back into the middle of the room, away from the arch windows. He span her round to face a chair.

  “Oh, yes, the gun!” He glanced around and quickly found the gun which she had unconsciously dropped. He placed it on the chair facing her. He then turned and pointed to the stain on his trousers.

  “Quite shameful, don’t you think? I rather need to change, so you must excuse me for a few minutes. Feel free to try and escape. Or scream the house down if you please. Nobody will hear you, but I would rather you do it while I’m not in the room. I really couldn’t stand it.”

  She lay silent, still with a fixed stare.

  “Do you understand me?”

  She said nothing, only stared.

  “Oh, very well. You’ll speak soon enough. Not that I need you to.”

  With that he marched from the lounge. Shortly after his footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  Now alone, when he would not gain satisfaction from the sight, she strained her limbs every and each way she could. Despite the pain she twisted her hands into the least shapes and worked to get them through the belt around her wrists. She bent her knees and rolled her body, seeking to find some way of sitting up. Every struggle weakened her and the only fruit of her resistance was despondency. He had bound her flawlessly. There was no way out.

  “Fuck.” She spat the word out at nobody in particular.

  The pain ached in her head. She lay still as possible, forsaking all attempts to work herself free, in the hope that the pain would subside. Shame swept over her as she thought that she could have killed him. All the time she had him in her power but was too scared to grasp the opportunity. She thought of her father, at home, slowly starving, dying in the knowledge that his daughter had failed. Sunny never would have failed like this.

  New tears filled her eyes and she squeezed her eyelids to stop them, unable to wipe them away. The pain in her head lightened. The strength of her bonds lifted. She slipped into sleep.

  “Welcome back. I thought you wouldn’t be rejoining us. That certainly would have made things a little easier for me.”

  The words swam in Edith’s head like fish. Each time her brain sought to hold them they flitted away. Even the sight before her took time to become real. Though she saw Gervase sat in his chair, gun in hand, smiling down, her mind failed to register that she was looking at all. She might have had her eyes open for five minutes or fifteen—she had no idea—her awareness had simply leapt into being.

  “Concussion, I would guess.” He crossed his legs and looked away disinterestedly. “It could be serious, you never know. I would get it looked at were I you. But then, I think you will have greater problems by the end of tonight.”

  “You...you did this to me.” She mumbled stupidly.

  He laughed at her idiocy. Her anger rose and she once more pulled against her bonds. Their tightness swiftly overrode her energy and she stopped, letting her limbs fall loose. There was no chance, there was no escape. She looked at the gun—her father’s gun—in his hand. He could pull the trigger at any moment, yet he chose not to.

  A shiver rushed over her. She scrabbled for a minute with the feeling, trying to roll it into a coherent thought. It wasn’t fear. It was anger.

  “Why don’t you just shoot me?” The words shocked her, more so that she had spoken them. She had named her fate without fear in her voice, without fear in her mind. Only a deep anger. She had lost control.

  More words welled up inside as belligerence began its reign. “You’re going to do it. So do it, you bastard. I’ve got a splitting headache and I think it might help.”

  “Very droll. But don’t you worry, I will kill you. I have none of the compunction you so kindly showed with me.”

  “I regret that,” she smiled broadly and snorted, “though I’m willing to try again. How about it?”

  “Let’s not. You’ve had your innings. Now it’s my turn to bat.” He stood and walked to the arch window. He silently gazed out into the black night.

  “Stop dragging this out. Just end it.” Despite the pain she slithered on the ground, forcing herself a few inches nearer to him.

  “In my time, not yours. Women should learn to obey. Are there no men in your...”

  “Fuck that.”

  “How foul.” Still he stood, staring out the window.

  Silence grew. She studied his face in the reflection of the glass. His eyes watching her surreptitiously.

  “You need something from me, don’t you?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m just concerned that if I shoot you I’ll spend the rest of the weekend cleaning up. Trust me, I have better things to do.”

  She grinned. His answer was too glib. She knew it.

  “Yes, you do. Ask me. Go ahead. I am at your mercy.”

  “I have no mercy, you stupid bitch.” He spoke into the dark, refusing to look at her, even in the reflection.

  She snorted once more. The odd sexism that he had exhibited at their first meeting was not just a quirk, something old–fashioned which could be ignored. Deep down, it was him. It drove him. She had met this kind of man before, many times.

  “Okay, cool. Whenever you’re ready then. Can I ask a question though?”

  “No. You had the upper hand and threw it away. I shan’t entertain your idiocy.” He strolled away from the window.

  “Just a little question? Pretty please?”

  “Shut up you worthless bint!” He burst out in a scream.

  “Have it your way then.”

  “No. Look,” he began to pace, “I have the gun, and I have the power. I have it my way already. I don’t need to keep you alive for another second if I don’t want to! If only you had died when I planned. You turning up tonight, of all nights...”

  He strode back to the window, never finishing his sentence. His breathing heavy. She watched as he slid his hand inside his trouser pocket. She saw it move around.

  “Are you enjoying this, Gervase?” She spoke with a tenderness reserved for Andrius, mocking the absurdity of his desire.

  “Shut up.”

  “I can see that you must be.”

  “Shut up!”

  “You don’t have to tell me about it, I guess. But did you feel it when I first met you?”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t know! You can’t imagine!” He roared with laughter. “You’re a great disappointment to me now, however.”

  “How so?” She paused to let him answer. When none came she pushed him harder. “Go on, tell me. How have I let you down?”

  He turned on his heel and stepped toward and around her bound body.

  “How? Let me tell you how. I feared you. Do you know that? I thought somebody had discovered our work and sent their agent to stop us. I saw through your ruse, of course I did! I knew you simply wanted to get into the house, to collected information. I thought you would come back later and kill me. You would be practiced, trained, capable of killing without remorse. But it turns out you’re...you’re nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “You’re not strong. You have no chance of overpowering me, do you? You don’t even have a clue what this is all about. You’re deep into my business and you’re blind as to what you’ve even stumbled upon.”

  “I guess I got something wrong?” A mock sigh. “It was my first time, do you know that? I’ve never investigated something like this before. I guess you could say I was a virgin when I met you.”

  “You dirty woman.” He snarled. “Whorish innuendo won’t save your life.”

  “You could say I’m fucked now.”

  The hot sting of a slap drove through her cheek. He stood over her body with his hand raised ready to administer a second. He squeaked and quivered as he considered a repeat. “You have a foul mouth.”

  “Aren’t you going to correct me? Tell me where I went wrong?”

  “E
verywhere. You went wrong everywhere.” He held his arms in a broad span and laughed. “I thought you knew much more, but when you started waving the gun around like a novice, jabbering about the royal family and the Establishment, that’s when I realized.

  “My darling, darling child,” he bent down low before her face, “I don’t work for them. They’re our enemies.”

  ‘What?’ She heard herself utter the word, that single syllable of disbelief. She had merely thought it.

  Her mind was thrown from its seat. Everything she knew about the case fell to pieces. He was right: she didn’t understand what was going on, why the Faircotes were being killed, and just who she was up against. A shudder delved through her body. The fear had come back. She was going to die in complete ignorance of the reason why.

  “Well,” she laughed in gasps of terror, “you’re right, you know? You’re absolutely right, I know nothing. I didn’t know that. I had no clue. In fact, I can’t begin to figure it out. How does it make sense? Why am I even here? Why did you kill the Faircotes?”

  He sat in an armchair and laid the gun next to his phone on the arm rest. Then he looked at the clock, which she couldn’t see, and thought. He pulled a momentary smile then clasped his hands.

  “Well, we killed the Faircotes for the very reason I told you when we first met. Their fatherline goes back to Alfred the Great, the king of England. They can’t be left to breed and carry on that line.”

  “Is that it? Is that all?”

  “That’s the sum of it. Simple, really.”

  “But you said they hadn’t been kings for a thousand years.” She shook her head.

  “What difference would that make? They could have been king. And could be again if they knew what they had. That’s all that matters.”

  “Why does it matter? It’s the twenty–first century. Who cares about this anymore?”

  “Ha! Who cares? Plenty of people over the years have asked me that. Many couldn’t see what I saw,” he dramatically turned to the window, “but things have changed. More and more men are beginning to see the world as I do. I suppose some of them might call me a visionary, but I’m far too modest for that. I’ve simply carried the torch, the light which illuminates the truth of the world. After fifty years I now have many to pass that torch on to.”