by Leon Logos
“I’d love some, put the kettle on,” Patrick smiled.
Together, the two of them sauntered away from the bed, and up the stairs. Before this, Patrick took a final watchful look at the room. His eyes met the general direction she was in, fixed on it for a full two seconds. She was anxious. But he took the lantern and then walked up to the house with his wife. As soon as she heard the basement door slam shut again, she sprawled out of the closet, letting out the heaviest breath of her life. It was relieving, but she wasted no time in relishing the moment. This was a close-call, and it was fortunate that the couple hadn’t stayed long.
The tin canteen lay on top of the drawer, but she didn’t bother to investigate or even give it a thought. Who cared what the medicine was? The only thing that mattered at the moment was to get out. Now.
Serenity used the lighter to lighten up the path ahead, bounding up the stairs as stealthily as possible. Praying that nobody was on the other side of the door, or the hall, she opened the door faintly. There was nobody in sight. She closed the door behind her. Patrick had locked it already.
With furtive steps, she stole through the hallway and turned to her right towards the staircase. The house wasn’t so noisy, so the brothers hadn’t returned from training yet.
As she made it to only the first landing, Patrick cleared his throat, standing on the first step. She turned around, stomach-dropping. He looked at her crossly, eyeing the iron basement key, which was visibly clutched in her left hand.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I’m sure you have a reasonable explanation for this?” Patrick demanded, meeting her eyes.
He had beckoned her to follow him into the living room. Now, they were seated right next to each other on the sofa. Her heart was racing, pretexts, and alibis chasing around her brain. What should she say? It was too late to have any regrets or to make an apology. She was caught; now, it was time to bite the bullet and think of a believable cover story.
“W-well,” she stammered, not off to a great start, “I found the key.”
“I can see that,” Patrick nodded, taking it forcefully from her. “But why do you have it? How long have you had it?”
“Only a couple of minutes,” she said, struggling to remain calm and lucid. “I found it under the vase by the front door.”
“What in God’s name would it be doing there?” he raised his voice, tone now rancorous and hostile.
He was no longer the affable, hearty, old man that he usually was.
“And why go upstairs?”
“I didn’t know you were home yet, so I wanted to hold on to it until you came back. You’re here now, so now you have it.”
Patrick glowered at her, completely unconvinced.
“You didn’t hear us come home? Is your hearing that deficient?”
“No, sir…”
“Perhaps you may have an explanation regarding why the basement door was unlocked? It shouldn’t have been.”
“Maybe you forgot to lock it before you went out?”
“No, I remember locking it very vividly,” Patrick asserted. “Is there something in our bedroom that you’re curious about? Something you’re looking for? I don’t know an extra towel? Food?”
“Not at all…I have everything I need,” she replied, lying blatantly.
“You know what I think? I think you’re a liar. All you kids have already displayed your deportment. Especially the naughty one. The intrusive one.”
“You mean Agno? Or Cackle?” she asked.
The silence was no recourse; she had to act innocent.
“But those boys—them I can understand,” Patrick continued. “They resemble one another and share a connection. It’s you that is inexplicable. There’s not one word to describe it, Peculiar? Abnormal? You’re the lone wolf in the pack. The child that doesn’t fit in.”
She had been told this many times in the past, so it was nothing new. Why Patrick was bringing this up seemed irrelevant. Where was he going with this?
“We’re not related,” she decided to say. “Not by blood.”
“Yet characteristically, all your brothers are alike! What went wrong with you? Your father did something wrong in your raising, did he not?”
“Excuse me, but can I leave?” she asked politely, unwilling to hear this.
“Not until you tell the truth!” he yelled, eyes flashing in a fury. The instant shift in demeanor startled her.
“I have!” she said desperately. “I promise you’re paranoid.”
Serenity was committed to the lie, but it didn’t feel right. Refusing to tell the truth out of fear of punishment, or betrayal of trust, was childish and pathetic. She debated in her head whether to come clean and face the consequences.
Patrick exhaled deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose. He appeared to be calming himself down, but he wasn’t backing down from the questioning.
She heard the back door open; the brothers returned from training, entering the kitchen. Cackle was causing a ruckus, as always. It was tempting to look around for them, but she didn’t dare break eye contact with Patrick.
“Empty your pockets,” he said. “Go. Now.”
She obeyed, taking out only Cackle’s lighter. There was nothing else in her pockets, but this. Patrick seized it from her, examining it. Hopefully, he didn’t have the deductive reasoning to infer that she had utilized it as a torch.
“You smoke?” he asked dubiously.
“Sometimes,” she lied again, with a jerk of the head. The brothers entered the living room, prompting her to turn to look at them. They all stopped regarding both of them with curious expressions. To her dismay, Cackle caught a glimpse of his lighter in Patrick’s hand. He stepped forward, getting a closer look for confirmation.
“Hey, that’s mine!” he pointed.
“No, it’s your sister’s!” Patrick responded wryly, although he didn’t believe it one bit.
“She smokes, you know.”
“What?” Cackle scoffed. “She doesn’t smoke, what’re you on?”
Patrick turned to her, folding his arms. He was demanding a response to this. She couldn’t think of what to say, at a loss for words now. Refuting Cackle’s comment was futile since the others would just back him up. Now that the brothers were in the vicinity, the pressure was intense.
“Roll up your sleeve—let me see your forearm,” he said.
The request was random and queer, but she did so. Patrick took her wrist, wrapping his hand around it firmly. His grip was ridiculously firm for a man his age. If she tried to, she wouldn’t be able to escape it. Serenity looked at him blankly, waiting for him to say something. Then, without warning, he placed the ignition of the lighter a centimeter from her forearm, rolling down the sparkwheel and lighting it up.
Serenity screamed in agony as the fire burned her skin. The pain was searing, intensifying by the second. With all her might, she struggled violently to break free from Patrick’s grasp. But he wouldn’t let go—not immediately. The brothers looked alarmed but didn’t move or make any attempt at stopping this. She screamed, spazzing out, realizing that Patrick wouldn’t desist until he got a confession.
“I’M SORRY! STOP IT!” she cried.
Patrick released her, extinguishing the flame simultaneously. She fell back onto the sofa, whimpering and clutching her burned forearm as it stung brutally. Her body writhed uncontrollably, attempting to shake it off. The whole thing lasted for at least four full seconds.
“You have a legitimate reason for doing that, I hope,” Desmos warned, watching him seriously.
“Indeed, I do,” said Patrick. “You should exhort this child to be honest. Then, tell her to come to me to apologize and divulge. Just a little taste of what happens to those who flout the rules in my house. Learn carefully.”
He tossed Cackle’s lighter at him, rose up, and left the living room to the basement. The original key was used to unlock the door. Helena was standing by the kitchen doorway, looking at her concernedly. She walked bac
k into the kitchen.
Serenity gritted her teeth, fighting off the pain; it was receding gradually, but the aftermath of the burn was just as agonizing as the onset. She examined the burn mark on her forearm. The skin was red and damaged, but thankfully it didn’t look too bad.
Desmos walked up to her, grabbing her wrist. She flinched, a small portion of her believing she was about to get burned once again. This trauma would abide for a whole week. He inspected the injury himself, assessing the severity of it. It didn’t take long for him to arrive at his conclusion.
“Nothing serious,” he evaluated. “First-degree burn at most. What the hell did you do to piss him off that much?”
Serenity looked up at him, resentful; she couldn’t detect even a trace of sympathy. Not only this, she would’ve expected Desmos to intervene when Patrick was virtually torturing her. But he was more accusatory than upset as if she had committed a wrongdoing. But what did she expect from somebody like Desmos? From any of the brothers? In fact, she had done something wrong. But her punishment was too severe.
Helena returned from the kitchen with bandages, a large bowl of cool water, and some sort of ointment. She set it down on the coffee table, gesturing her to come down. She did so, resting her hand in the water. It was assuaging.
“Poor girl,” she said. “You didn’t deserve that…”
“I’m going to ask only once,” said Desmos. “What did you—”
He stopped mid-sentence. Agno whispered something in Desmos’s ear. It was unknown what, but whatever it was shut Desmos up. The other brothers headed towards the stairs. Desmos followed them. Serenity was glad they were gone. She didn’t need another interrogation right now.
Helena applied some ointment over the burn. She winced, the cold, oily substance deadening the pain. It was a strange feeling, but pleasurable for the most part. Serenity looked Helena in the eyes. She was normal, for now. Only ten minutes ago, she had gotten another sight at the “other” woman. Her alter ego, the deranged lunatic that was so dissimilar from the real Helena. Then again, who was the real Helena?
Her perceptions of the elderly woman were ambivalent, vacillating between revolt and admiration. In public, she was the sweet, ingenious, demure lady. Behind closed doors, she was someone entirely different. For now, she’d treat Helena the same as before. As long she was sane in front of her, there wouldn’t be any issues between them.
“Does it still hurt?” Helena asked softly.
“Just a bit,” said Serenity. “But it feels much better now. Thank you.”
Helena beamed, bandaging up the injury. It wasn’t severe like Desmos had gauged. Serenity accepted that she deserved consequences for what she had done, imprudently breaking the rules, then lying about it.
But what Patrick had done to her was wicked and reprehensible. Though, she was the last person on the planet to be complaining, given her abundance of experience with punishment. Gunther had done far worse to her; getting burned with a lighter was mild in comparison to what she had endured at the hands of her father.
“You should be fine now,” said Helena, rising to her feet. “Now go upstairs and wait until supper. I’m sure your siblings can comfort you.”
“Okay,” she said, certain “comfort” was the wrong word.
“WHAT part of ‘don’t do anything stupid’ or ‘enough rule-breaking’ do you NOT UNDERSTAND?” Desmos said furiously.
Again, it was time to bite the bullet. Further lies would only result in detrimental ramifications. She was seated on Desmos’s bed, in his room. All the other brothers were present, convened by him. He had ordered an explanation, and she gave it to him.
“I’d apologize, but you wouldn’t care,” she said glumly.
“How many lashes will it take until you LISTEN?!”
“I already had my arm roasted, what more do you want!”
Serenity latched onto the edge of the mattress crabbily. She expected this type of reaction from him, but it was infuriating nonetheless. The others hadn’t said a word the whole time she was being admonished. Until now.
“What did you see?” Garen asked. “What did you find? Desmos, she already did it. No reason to keep bitching at her. We’ll chain her to a tree stump later. But for now, we extract information.”
Desmos considered in his thoughts but ultimately assented the proposal. It wasn’t often both Desmos and Garen agreed on something.
“Tell us, then. You find what you were looking for?”
“I don’t know what I was looking for,” she admitted. “I just did it out of impulse. And no, I didn’t find anything—well, actually…”
“Yeah?”
“A body…a corpse one…in the closet,” she said frankly.
“Seriously?!” Cackle burst out excitedly. “Did you take a picture?!”
“The plot thickens,” Agno said, interested. “Was it obese?”
“How old was the body? Give me an estimate,” Desmos said, asking the relevant questions.
At the moment, he was also compelled.
“Ancient,” she said, recollecting the grotesque details. “There were even maggots, and the smell almost knocked me out. It looked more like a skeleton than a body. Decomposed.”
“Could you identify the body?” Desmos continued. “Male or female? Child or adult? Warrior or ordinary civilian?”
“What? No. It was a man, I think. But who cares about all that! What’s a corpse doing in their bedroom closet?!”
“Relax, you’ve seen a dead body before,” Kyler said, plain-spoken.
He had recovered enough from his fever suddenly.
“That’s not the point! What kind of elderly couple stashes dead bodies in their house—their bedrooms, to be exact? Does it not scare you guys?!”
“They’re not an ordinary elderly couple, we’ve seen the wife in her true form,” said Agno candidly. “And sure; it’s creepy but more rousing.”
“‘True form?’” she repeated uncertainly. “We don’t even know what’s wrong with her. Which reminds me, they almost caught me.”
“But they didn’t,” said Desmos. “Did they? Patrick isn’t definite that you were down in that basement. Correct?”
“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “I think he does. But he didn’t see me go in. Or come out, either. I hid in the closet, next to that body.”
“And you saw…?” Agno prompted.
“Her ‘true form’ again. And she only went back to normal when Patrick fed her something. I think it was the medicine.”
Serenity concentrated, visualizing the scene as vividly as possible. It wasn’t a prescription bottle, but a canteen the “medicine” was stored inside.
“In the letter, Father warned us not to disobey Patrick,” she remembered. “Do you think that maybe, he’s not done with me?”
“Yep, isn’t done with you,” Cackle said heartlessly. “My lighter was just the start. After everything you’ve been through, your pain tolerance still isn’t high enough. Be ready to get spanked with a spiked glove!”
“He’s right; your problem, not ours,” Desmos nodded. “You’re lucky; Father is returning tomorrow. Otherwise, it would’ve been a brutal day of training for you. You wouldn’t have survived.”
Again with the threats. And they weren’t empty threats. She knew from experience that Desmos was true to his word when it came to them. He’d never pass up an opportunity to inflict suffering and anguish upon her. To “rectify” her “shortcomings and imperfections.”
“We’re a day away from departure,” said Desmos. “The next person to do something stupid, I won’t forgive.”
“Does that mean you forgive me?” she asked meekly.
“You’ll see…” he replied inexplicitly.
She was unsure what this meant, but it couldn’t be anything pleasant. It was a stupid question, she could confess. Even if Desmos had forgiven her, he would never admit it. He wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.
That night at supper was awkward. They a
te cooked elk meat in silence, the clattering and clinking of silverware and plates the only noises audible. Serenity kept a watchful but furtive eye on Patrick. He hadn’t said anything regarding the incident. It was as if he had completely forgotten or intentionally chose not to bring it up. She assumed he’d mention it at the end of supper time. Whether she would acknowledge and tell the truth was still undecided. It was a debatable choice. She had always liked Patrick, respecting him for his jovial personality. Not anymore. His methods of discipline were cruel and deplorable.
For once, Helena started a conversation.
“Where do you all plan to go next after you leave?” she asked pleasantly.
Serenity turned to Desmos, knowing he would answer as always. Though, she doubted he had a legitimate, correct answer to this question.
“It’s still undetermined.”
“You have a notion, don’t you?” Patrick said, swallowing a chunk of meat whole. It sailed down his mouth, creating a brief lump in his throat.
“Again, I can only speculate.”
“Really?” Patrick said. “The letter he sent you. You’re telling me he said nothing pertaining to your future plans?”
“Nothing explicitly, no.”
“Then, implicitly, I’m sure. I know Gunther was sure to note that his words only be read by you guys. But you mind if I take a look?”
“I can’t disobey an order from him,” Desmos said firmly.
Patrick nodded, but he looked at him in a different light. With doubt and suspicion. Desmos recognized Patrick’s current outlook on himself, but he didn’t address it. Patrick scrutinized them all. He looked around the table at them, attempting to read their thoughts from their facial expressions.
“I’m glad your father is coming tomorrow; there’s much to discuss between us,” Patrick said gruffly. “Do you all know why your father sent you here? I surely do not. And I’d like to know.”
“Likewise,” Garen grunted. “We know much less than you’d expect.”
“And why is that? Why does your father not confide in you all?”
“Aren’t you old buddies with him? How about you answer that question,” said Agno, jumping into the conversation.
