A/N- William was probably the most difficult to write for, only because he was such a major part of the story and the events that took place, his perspective is more important than others.
* $2,000 back in the 1920's is valued at roughly $25,000 in today's currency, for reference later in the chapter.
"…and there I was, eyeing the beast within my rifle's scope." William rehearsed, his hands holding an imaginary gun for demonstration. "I had barely enough time to check the wind's direction before it took off, barreling right towards me! Closer and closer it came, and I got off the shot just in time, dropped it to the ground with a single bullet!"
"Oh my, that must have been frightening." Celine raised her eyebrows, walking slowly beside her companion through the garden.
"Bully, I was petrified! Scared out of my wits." The Colonel agreed with a hearty laugh, his grin infectious. "But it all turned out alright. I checked afterwards, and it was close to being a record size moose."
"Hmm, were you disappointed?" She questioned, wrapping the shawl tighter around her exposed arms. He noticed this small discomfort, then cursed himself for leaving his jacket in the manor. Always the gentleman, he'd have offered it to her in a heartbeat. Remembering she'd asked a question, he shook his head.
"Only just. The beast was a great challenge to track down to begin with. I'd have been more disappointed had it gotten away."
Celine chuckled softly, and a comfortable quiet settled between them. William, kept stealing glances at the remarkable person walking beside him. Mark was certainly a lucky bastard for finding such a magnificent woman.
Of course, when he's actually here to enjoy her. His mood briefly soured a notch, a flicker of resentment crossing his face without him knowing.
Even now, Mark was holed up in his study, no doubt poring over movie deals and scripts meticulously. The man was obsessed with his work, often times neglecting anything and everyone else in favor of doing it. That included Celine, who would often times have nothing to occupy her time other than reading books she found in the library. It was a very lonely pastime, and William would hate for her to be bored while waiting for her idiot husband to remember even having a wife.
So, whenever William came visiting, he'd made it a point to accompany her on walks in the garden, or forays in the library, where they'd simply converse for hours. It was the least he could do for her.
Celine was quite the conversationalist when it suited her and enjoyed picking apart topics she got from the books that filled most of her day. Her mind was as deep as her soul, something William flocked to like a moth. He'd never met anyone quite as interesting and…real as her. So genuine and wholesome. He doubted there'd ever be another woman such as her in his lifetime.
"Are you quite alright, William?" She inquired, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of her lips. His eyes narrowed in confusion, uncertain why she was suddenly asking on his health. She chuckled quietly. "You've been staring at me awhile."
"Oh!" He blustered with embarrassment, shaking his head and gesturing placatingly. "I was lost in thought. I meant no offense."
"I know, but I do wonder what you were thinking about that had you so distracted. You've been doing that quite a lot the last few times we've met." She implied, silently asking that he tell her about it.
"Ah, well…" He trailed off, unsure of what to say. He couldn't exactly tell her she was too good for Mark, like he'd actually been thinking. That would do no good at all, but William was drawing a blank as to what to talk about in place of the truth. What story did he have that he could distract her with?
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, Mark chose that moment to call his wife's name, his voice carrying from the courtyard of the manor into the garden. William couldn't decide whether to be grateful he'd been spared an awkward conversation or irritated that Mark was the one to thank for it.
"Celine, where on earth are you, darling?" He shouted in amusement. The woman in question gave William a kind but apologetic smile, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"I'd better go, but do tell me more stories of your last safari the next time we meet. And what's wormed its way into that head of yours."
He nodded enthusiastically, wiping away the distaste as if it had never occurred. "Of course, Celine. Any time you'd like."
Mark called for her again, and she hurried forward around the corner, leaving his sight. The smile faded from his face, and he stared at the ground beneath his boots. He hadn't realized the tightness in his chest until she'd left, when it began to dissipate. He was mortified to identify the feeling, knowing that the path it would lead was a very dangerous one.
Celine was a married woman. The wife to his best friend, no less. His head knew that. But his damned heart didn't care. Part of him didn't even feel guilty for pining after her, seeing the way she lived while married to Mark. Certainly she was worth more than an hour or two of attention, only to be ignored the rest of the day? Had Mark no sense of value of a woman like that?
Sitting on the sidelines watching as the woman he…oh, damn him, there was no way around the truth—the woman he loved was treated poorly was agony. He'd never question her decision to marry his childhood friend. The man had money, plenty to afford anything she might desire. He was renowned, an actor. The man lived in a mansion for god's sake.
William was…well, he was William. And all of a sudden, he could understand why she'd stay married to Mark. There was a lot he could provide that he could not. All at once the crushing reality that neither Mark or himself were good enough for the elusive Celine descended upon him. She was smart enough to decide for herself what she wanted, and that decision had been made years ago, cemented in stone on her wedding day.
If all that's the case, why do I still yearn for her?
The human condition, perhaps, of always wanting what you couldn't have. Angrily, more at the cruelty life could exhibit than himself or anyone else, William scowled to the ground and walked off towards the golf course, looking for something to occupy himself with to distract from these treacherous thoughts.
William stared at the finely-scribed collections notice that had arrived in the mail that morning, eyes rereading the print for perhaps the dozenth time. He couldn't be reading this correctly, could he? It had to be a joke. What else could it be?
"…of the Warfstache household…"
"…kindly bring attention to…"
"…as a result of numerous civil suits and postings of bail…"
"…henceforth all matters will be forwarded to the jurisdiction of the State…"
"…of an outstanding sum totaling $2,000 owed."
The number stood glaringly against the page. $2,000 they claimed he owed? What in God's name was this? He read over the first page again, swearing that his eyes were deceiving him. Yet the words remained the same. How could this be?
Too preoccupied with the first page of the letter, he hadn't yet bothered to read the second. Shaking his head with a feeling of dread pitting in his stomach, he set the first page down and unfolded the second, reading the words written there in an awfully familiar script. Though, the scrawl was sloppier, messier, and the ink thicker than he'd expect of a letter from Mark. He'd let his emotions drive him writing it, it seemed.
"William,
It has come to my attention that the cost of our friendship is no longer worth its weight. My lawyers have been so kind as to compile the total expense it has cost me all these years of being your acquaintance, and I've enclosed the sum of which you owe me for doing so. Lying bastards like yourself don't come cheap, it seems.
And kindly give the witch my regards.
Mark"
Celine, who was still asleep in the other room, didn't hear as William crumpled up his former friend's letter and hurled it against the wall with a growl. He'd anticipated Mark's anger in the aftermath of Celine's departure, especially once he figured out the reasoning, but this! This was absolutely mad!
$2,000 he wanted? It would take him years to pay off that debt! William was by no means poor, but $2,000? Surely the fines hadn't added up to that number over the years? The anger began to recede, shifting into panic, and fear.
How was he to tell Celine? What was she to think? They'd only just married. Would she want to remain with him if he were forced into poverty? Surely the love they shared would be enough to see them through…
He was all too familiar with Mark's stubbornness. And the thinly veiled threat of having his lawyers on hand was all too clear to the Colonel. If he tried skipping on the debt he 'owed' they would surely be watched and dogged for years, simply because the arrogant idiot wanted to spite him.
Very well. William had received the message. If this is what Mark wanted, to ruin his life as he'd perceived his own to be ruined, so be it. But the Colonel wasn't going to stand idly by and let him do it. He'd find a way, somehow, to keep his marriage with Celine intact, the way Mark hadn't. And somehow he'd find a way to pay off all this money, even if it meant a hard life for the years to come.
William had accepted that his friendship with Mark would end, had known it the minute he'd asked Celine to come away with him. No respectable man would accept an outcome like that, and the Colonel could understand any ill feelings directed his way. And yet somehow Mark had still found a way to cross the line. That was it, then. There'd be no peace between them.
May the best bastard win.
Never again did he expect a letter from the Iplier household. Yet there it sat, unopened, and sealed with the familiar family crest stamped into the red ink.
William was urged to reach for his trusty flask, a quick ounce of liquid courage before he even touched the damn letter, but thought against it. It was barely the break of day. Best to leave the drinking for later on.
What did the bastard want now? To taunt him? Rub in his face the fact that Celine had left him as well? Surely he'd suffered enough torment for one lifetime from his former friend.
She'd left some years ago, her determination to find what was really going on with that house a greater priority than any relationship. William had tried reasoning with her, tried offering solutions, alternatives, but the woman was firm in her decision. Love had no place in her life anymore, not with all this evil her eyes had been opened to.
William had been very supportive of her research into the otherworldly. Ever since they'd began the affair she'd had a passion for things not quite proven real. Mysteries had always intrigued her far beyond any fantastic tale he could spin. He'd accepted that. It was a part of her, just as the mistakes he'd made in the past were a part of him.
But the support turned to concern when she began dabbling into this black magic herself. Strange things occurred at the Warfstache home not long afterwards, unexplainable events and the like. Items would move mysteriously. They'd both fallen ill an unusual amount of times. A heaviness pressed in on the air inside. It wasn't these he had began to fear, however. It was Celine.
This black magic business had changed her, the same way she'd described Mark changing at the manor. The lovable, kind, and understanding woman had become distant. Almost uninterested with everything except her work. William noticed she'd developed quite a temper, nowadays being more prone to yell when she was upset, and smack her hands on the countertops. They fought, frequently, he remembered bitterly. Celine may have developed this newfound habit of making sure she got what she wanted, but he'd always been stubborn and bullheaded. Ever since childhood, especially in regards to Mark. He had plenty of practice in butting heads.
The rift William couldn't figure out how to close widened with each day, each nasty comment and argument. Even more frustrating was the fact that she didn't see how much she had changed. Time and time again, she'd deny it, before retreating to their bedroom for a few hours to cool off.
There was no end to it, until one day there was. The day he'd woken up to half of the dresser empty and a note on the table, her wedding ring placed in the corner of the paper.
Finally deciding to partake in that drink, the misery too much to bear at that moment, William quickly tossed his head back, the lukewarm alcohol burning his throat on the way down. Instead, he thought about the hatred he'd always harbor for Mark. It was much easier to bear than anything else.
He let out a rumbled sigh, eyes locked on the letter that still sat untouched. What else could the man possibly to do him now that hadn't already been done? He supposed he'd better get over it and see what the bastard had to say. His hand slapped down on the letter and pulled it forward. The seal was broken within a moment and he pulled out the contents.
"You've been cordially invited Poker Night at Iplier Manor."
William's eyes narrowed, suspecting some sort of trick. A second paper, much smaller than the first, was still tucked inside the envelope, and he pulled it free next. No doubt it would contain some sort of sardonic message like the last time. Well, he was in a mood to hate the man this morning anyway.
"Let's say we have a drink and a chat, old friend? It's time we cleared the air.
-Mark"
His eyes narrowed. Was he trying to be funny? Participating in some gigantic leg pull that William wasn't aware of? Was he mad? He stays silent for years, then comes around with an extension of friendship? That didn't sound like Mark at all. That sounded much more like something Damien would try, and then he wondered if it had all been the mayor's idea to begin with.
Him and Damien never had outright problems but it frustrated William to no end that he wouldn't ever take a side, forever sitting on the sidelines and hoping everyone involved could settle their differences. The man was way too worried about offending someone else.
Still, he'd never expected for Mark to be the one to breach the separation between them first. William had been more than satisfied never speaking to him again, never expecting any sort of reciprocation from the former friend. Now that the invitation had been offered, William felt like he could at least face the man that had caused him considerable grief over the years. Never one to back down or run from confrontation, the Colonel felt it was about time to 'clear the air,' as Mark put it. But perhaps not in the sense the actor thought.
No, he'd make his stance very clear on what he thought. And hell, perhaps the arrogant bastard would even apologize. He felt Mark owed him a lot of drinks at any rate. And any excuse to drink was more incentive than whatever Mark had to say.
"I can't believe you…You come find me when you pull your head out of your ass!"
With a mix of disbelief and acrimony, William watched as the normally cool-headed and polite Damien walked away in a rush. Biting back the curse that threatened to spill through, the Colonel stared with venom at the wall. He doubted the mayor had ever spoken to him like that before. It had definitely been years at the very least.
All this murder business…William didn't know what to do. He'd woken with a raging hangover, and the disturbing, clouded memories of having committed a terrible act. He hadn't been sure it was real until Damien had come to him with the news. Even then, he had half a mind not to believe it. The Colonel may have hated the man's guts but…him? A murderer? Never…
The sound of muffled footsteps as someone entered the small theater drew his attention, and he sighed, not wanting to hear anything more from his friend.
"Damien, I don't-" He stopped, looking up to see the attorney approaching him. "Oh."
The mayor had mentioned his friend, the attorney, was helping the detective on this case. The questioning had come sooner than he'd expected. Thankfully he was able to send them on their way without too much trouble, imploring they investigate elsewhere. The manor was rife with possible suspects, thankfully, giving the Colonel time to think of what to do.
Only bits and pieces were clear, but William knew how this all looked. He knew it would be difficult to keep it all from Damien especially. The mayor understood him too well. And the worst part was he'd try talking to him about it as much as possible.
Yes, perhaps laying low would be the best course of action.
Damien…he still had Damien! Where was that blasted idiot? He'd gone with Celine, hadn't he? Where had they gone? Upstairs! Of course, upstairs. He'd forgotten in all the excitement. William hadn't lost everything yet. He'd always have Damien, of course…
Leaving the bloodstained jacket and hat where they lay on the ground beside him, the Colonel stood shakily to his feet and clambered up the stair to the second floor. His knee hit a few of the wooden steps on the way up, stumbling a couple times, but he felt no pain.
It was a short trip down the hallway and up to the door where Celine had emerged from. Changed, glowing, red and blue. The sight had horrified him, and a part of him was scared to even open the door, but Damien had to be inside. He'd have all the answers. William wouldn't be alone in this godforsaken house any longer.
With only the smallest hesitation, he threw open the door and stared inside. There was no Celine, just an empty room with the spiritual items still set up on the table. The candles had long been extinguished, and the tarot cards had scattered all over the floor.
"Damien?" He called, the first bit of his panic cracking through his voice. "Where are you, Damien?"
William stepped closer, peering around the door to see further inside. The lights were off and it was dark inside, but it was just bright enough to see. The hope that had previously formed died away when he saw it leaning against the wall. Damien's cane.
Hands shaking, he reached out to it, it's significance slowly sinking in. Damien never went anywhere without his cane. It was practically a comfort item. The metal topper was worn but still polished from where Damien would constantly twist it in his hands nervously or with excitement. How could he have forgotten his cane? Why would he have left it?
Not wanting to believe the truth, the Colonel cradled it to his chest, the first of the tears sliding down his cheek. Numbly, he walked out of the room and back down to the foyer. Surely…he must be somewhere? Damien had to be somewhere? William couldn't do this all alone. Not after Mark. Not after Celine. Or the detective.
Not after that attorney fellow.
"D-Damien?" His voice carried down the hallway weakly, but there was no answer.
He kept looking, knowing the man had to be hiding around here somewhere. The mayor was all he had left.
The wood was soft, worn smooth from the years of use. He wondered just how long Damien had had it for, and why he'd come to have it anyways. He'd never had a limp. Perhaps it was merely for decoration.
The silver knob on the top of the cane shined. The sun reflecting through the windows—was it morning already?—glinted off the top and bounced it to the opposing wall. A small orb of light bobbed up and down as he moved it.
As canes went, this one was extremely simple. Most others he'd seen were laden with colored jewels or figurines of animals and crests. But Damien was—had been—a simple man. He'd never been partial to extravagance or useless expenditure for vanity's sake like Mark had…It was just like him to have something so elegant, yet so simple.
William couldn't look away, didn't want to look away. The cane was a much better sight than the graying corpse not ten feet away. Yes, the cane was a fine sight to behold. Why look away?
The bottom end of the cane, narrowed to a smaller point than at the top, was scuffed and dirty, and small chips of the black pain had come away, revealing the dark wood it was comprised of. Perhaps rosewood, or walnut? Mahogany? Maybe even…
William's sight began to blur with building moisture. He couldn't do this anymore, pretend he'd done nothing wrong. The evidence lay right across from him. He was sorry and hadn't intended things to end up this way, but it had happened nonetheless. He just couldn't do it anymore. Closing his eyes to steel himself, he forced them back open and away from Damien's cane cradled in his hands.
The attorney's face was blank, staring up at the chandelier above the foyer. Had that been the last thing they'd seen before they died? What was going through their mind? Had there been pain? Was it over in a second?
Mark's death…perhaps he could have handled it, had it been the only one. There was no lost love between them, and William had secretly always hoped the bastard would get what he deserved. The actor had caused enough people grief, had cost too many too much. Perhaps the world wouldn't be a better place without him, but the Colonel had his doubts.
The detective—no, Abe was his name—had egged him on, riled him up. Even now, he felt the horrible aftertaste of trying to justify his actions. Chances were, had he waited even another few seconds, everything would have been worked out. Damien had always been better with words than himself, but surely both himself and Abe would have calmed down eventually. He doubted the detective would have made the shot, despite the high tensions at the time.
A stain on his soul. But the worst of all, perhaps, had been the innocent District Attorney. William held no greater regret than taking their life. What harm had they done him? And the fact that he knew practically nothing about them made it all the harder to accept what he'd done. Had they had a family? Was a small child somewhere now parentless? The unforeseeable domino effect the attorney's death carried with it was terrifying. A single life could be instrumental to the lives of hundreds of others.
Was that why he sat here, staring at their corpse? Did William feel like he owed them at least that? He'd been the one to put them there, it was his due to face his actions and own up to it.
An honorable man would have informed the authorities hours ago, but here he remained, unable to look away from the death and destruction he had wrought. Even now, he could feel the mistakes pressing at his back, pushing in on him eagerly. Waiting for him to snap. Waiting to push him over the edge.
Nothing made sense. Despite his inner turmoil, there were so many things William couldn't understand. How had Mark's body ended up where it had? He'd been killed in the cellar. He hadn't moved him, too panicked to do anything more than return to his room and furiously scrub out the blood from his clothes. Where had the body gone afterwards?
What happened to Celine? Or Damien? His friends were missing. The detective was dead. The staff of the house had run while they could, perhaps for the best. William couldn't be a danger to them if they were no longer here.
…When had it all gone so wrong?
And above it all was the realization that it was all William's fault. it had always been, he now understood. Mark had been driven to madness because of his own selfish infatuation with his wife. The debt placed over his head had been his own mistakes, and his own conceited expectation that his friends should take as much of the blame as himself. Everything up to this point had been because of his action or lack thereof, and he had no one else to point to but himself.
The grip on the cane tightened, the sweat from his hands making the wood slide in his fingers. If only he could take it all back, do it all over again. He'd do right. He'd make different choices. Another chance and it would go right this time.
A small noise, something out of place to the creaks and groans of the manor as he'd sat there listening all night long and into the morning. It caught his hearing and he looked up at the terrifying sight. It shouldn't be possible…
The attorney, their eyes very much alive and looking around with confusion, stood up. They'd been dead…surely? He'd checked a pulse, there'd been nothing. Their skin had turned ashen, they'd grown cold, William was almost certain. And yet there they stood, standing with a slight stagger and now looking at him.
He stood, gesturing placatingly with his free hand when they recoiled with shock or fear. "Oh no, no! It's ok!" He didn't want them thinking he'd hurt them again. He'd learned the first time around.
Was this some answer to his plea? Some divine intervention? Why…why of course! It had to be. Nothing else could explain all of this…all this confusion and he had so many questions and by god, they were alive! His heart leapt, a spark of hope once again alive in his soul.
"I-I thought you were dead." He admitted aloud, watching the attorney peer at them through those wide eyes. They remained silent, and William rushed to correct himself. This was his second chance! He mustn't ruin it like this. "I-I-I mean of course you're not dead! You're not—how could you be dead?"
The confusion and slight fear never wavered in the attorney's eyes, and the paced warily behind the small table between the both of them. The Colonel rushed to cover the confusion, hoping to explain so they would understand. It was all just a big misunderstanding, of course it was!
"I-I mean, I wouldn't have killed you. I-I didn't kill you…"
William gently, slowly set down the cane on the nearest table, eyes sweeping around the floor trying to reach an explanation for all of this. What could have made all this possible? Surely, none of this had been real…It couldn't be…William was no fool, and he was not tricked easily—
Tricked. A gag. A funny. Yes, that must be it! All a prank! It had to be! How else would the attorney have gotten back up again? All that guilt over a silly leg-pull, how could he be so foolish as to fall for their gags?
"Of course. I didn't kill anybody…" He looked into the mirror, seeing himself for the first time since the day before. He looked quite worse for wear, but it was still him. He was still William. Yellow shirt and all. He hadn't changed. Murderer? Bah! A murderer wouldn't look like that, no sir! A chuckle burst from his lips, and he stumbled a pace backwards. How could he be so foolish? "I didn't—it was all a joke!"
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that the attorney wasn't laughing, but surely, he could explain and they would all laugh together, how funny everything was. "It was all a joke! Were you in on this?"
Before the attorney could reply, he realized. It all clicked. It made sense, the puzzle pieces falling together perfectly. "Did Damien put you up to this? Of course he did!" No wonder the man was hiding. He'd been waiting for this all to come together so he could poke fun at William later. Well, he'd seen through the trick!
"Damien, where are you, you rapscallion?" He called, eyes searching the front room a second time for his missing friend. He must have found a wonderful hiding place. It was time to come out now, the bluff had been called, and they'd all come together for another laugh at his expense.
"Where are you?" Vaguely, he realized the attorney wasn't following after him, but that was quite alright. They'd all meet in the foyer afterwards. "Celine?" Of course, if Damien had set this up he must have gotten her to participate. Those bunch of jesters, they were.
"It's time to come out now." He called into the empty hallways, stumbling along chuckling all the while. "It was good, it was good. You almost had me!"
His steps echoed loudly on the wooden floors. Goodness, where were they hiding? He'd always been good at hide and seek as a child. He knew every nook and cranny of this house. Mark, Damien, and himself had quite a grand old time finding places to hide from each other. Oh yes! Mark, where was that fellow? Oh, but he truly missed Celine. He hoped he'd find her first.
A/N- William's was difficult, simply because of how heartbreaking the whole outcome turned out to be. Everyone had such good intentions to begin with...
ns 15.158.61.19da2
