11. Broken Towers
Solomon Hightower and his late wife, Josephine (Josie) had one
child together, thirteen-year-old Apollo. Crippled by grief over Josie’s
untimely death, Solomon began to ignore and neglect his son not long after she
passed away. Much of the widower’s time was occupied by his judicial duties
which kept his mind off Josie. Solomon’s unhealthy coping mechanism took a
devastating toll on his relationship with Apollo, who was abandoned in the care
of nannies and estate staff. Apollo’s aunt, Naomie, was the last ray of light
that shone in his life.
Unfortunately, Naomie’s maternal love for her nephew wasn’t
enough for the troubled youth. Apollo only desired attention, affection, and
acknowledgment from his father. But at every interval, Solomon dismissed his
son when the boy tried to reconnect with him.
“I’m here to see my Aunt Naomie.” Apollo told the nurse in a
boorish tone. “You can open the door.”
The anxious nurse looked over to her colleague. Apollo
glared at the women, wondering what was taking so long. He gave them a simple
direction. “I’m-I’m so- I’m so sorry I have to tell you this Apollo.” He
couldn’t see his aunt.
Since age five, Naomie was afflicted with a terrible
autoimmune disease which left her body weakened, susceptible to chronic
infections and illnesses, and in constant agonizing pain. Her disease worsened
as the years passed. Naomie rarely left her suite. Apollo lashed out at the
medical staff for denying him access to his aunt. “My dad’s going to hear about
this, and you’re all going to lose your jobs.” He told them in a bratty manner.
The nurses revealed to Apollo that it was Solomon who told
them to keep him away. Naomie was recuperating from a cold. They explained to
Apollo that it was deadly to someone heavily immuno-compromised like his aunt.
Solomon wouldn’t take any further risks with his sister. “I’m sorry,
sweetheart.” The second nurse lamented.
“Okay then… When… When will I be able to see her next?” The
nurses looked at each other again. “Don’t worry about it… Your answer’s clear.”
Until it was okay with Solomon, Apollo wouldn’t be able to see Naomie any time
soon. “Just tell her… I came by…” The heartbroken boy hung his head.
The nurses said they were more than happy to do that. “Knowing
that you came by to see her will brighten Miss Naomie’s day.” That wasn’t good
enough for Apollo. He just wanted to see his aunt. On his way out the door,
Apollo discarded the art kit he had brought with him. His aunt loved painting.
He and Naomie would spend hours painting together during his visits with her.
Solomon’s son was a terribly troubled youth. His mother was
dead. His aunt was chronically ill. And his father was concerned with other
things. The seeds of pain, trauma, rage, loneliness, and resentment took root
inside his soul. Something inside him broke. The sweet child whom everyone
around West Eden felt sorry for became a nuisance. He acted out and terrorized
everyone who crossed his path. Their empathy for him became disdain. They all
turned their backs on him. No one could control him. Apollo was a lost cause.
Vivianne received the worst of Apollo’s mistreatment. He was
particularly ruthless and antagonistic when it came to her. She was the easiest
victim to torment because she was soft-spoken and gentle. Apollo bullied
Vivianne out of envy. He craved the love her parents showered her with. The
girl not being Dante’s and Beatrice’s biological daughter only made his rage
fester. Why was she blessed and not me? How come my
life’s so miserable? Apollo reflected on those questions every time he
watched Vivianne with her parents. He was brought to tears every time those
unanswered questions crossed his mind. To Apollo, it wasn’t fair.
“She wouldn’t be so happy if she knew they weren’t her real
parents…” A malicious idea came to mind. Vivianne’s parentage wasn’t a secret around
West Eden. The only person who didn’t know was her. Out of spite, Apollo
decided he would break the truth to Vivianne. “She’ll probably cry until she
vomits.” The deviant child snickered to himself. He couldn’t wait to see her
reaction. Vivianne would never be happy as long as Apollo was miserable.
Apollo had an awful habit of thinking out loud, however.
Olsen and Joaquin overheard his harmful intentions; they had been passing
through the area. Olsen, Horatio’s brother, became enraged. He snatched Apollo
by the collar and slammed the boy into the wall. “We heard what you said,
brat.” Olsen pressed his forehead against Apollo’s. He wanted the troublemaker
to see the fire in his eyes.
Joaquin lit a cigarette and assumed the role of the good
cop. “Look, kid, I know your life sucks ass but taking it out on Vivianne
and everyone else isn’t how you deal with your issues.” When it came to Dante
and his family, Horatio and Olsen were fiercely protective. They would give
their lives for the man and his family.
Apollo blew a raspberry. “Let me go and back up.” He told
the men they were beneath him; he didn’t have to listen to them. Olsen slammed
the boy into the wall again. Apollo’s head painfully bounced off the surface.
He became dizzy. “I’m going to tell my dad! You can’t put your hands on me like
this.” He squirmed and fought against Olsen’s hold.
Tired of his good cop act, Joaquin switched sides. He
stepped in and smacked the boy in the mouth. “Shaddup…” The man said,
irritated. “We’re not going back and forth with you. Arguing with a child is
beneath us.” Joaquin brought the lit cigarette dangerously close to
Apollo’s left eye. The terrified boy stopped squirming. “
“I’ve reached the end of my patience with you, Apollo.” Olsen’s
hold on the boy tightened. “You’ve already told you several times to stay away
from Vivianne.” Had Apollo not been Solomon’s son, Olsen would have whooped the
boy’s ass sooner. “If you go anywhere near Vivianne again, especially flapping
those lips of yours, the boys’ lacrosse team is going to find themselves one
boy short before playoffs.” Olsen opened his hand. Joaquin handed over his
cigarette which was used to burn Apollo’s leg. He screamed, alerting some maids
and a butler. “Can’t play lacrosse with two broken legs.”
The maids and butler came running to Apollo’s aid. “Um, is
everything okay here?” The first maid asked with a trembling voice. “We heard
scream-”
“The young master was trying to smoke a cigarette in secret
but burned himself when we caught him. Everything’s okay now. We’ll take him to
the house physician.” Joaquin and Olsen sent the trio away.
The maids and butler didn’t believe the obvious lie;
however, they were in no position of authority to question the claim. “O-okay
then…” The first maid nervously wrung her apron. “A-Apollo, you-you can’t
sm-smoke inside the ho-house. Mis-mister Sol-Solomon will be-be u-upset.”
Smoking in the shared areas of the house wasn’t. Family members who lived in
balcony suites were permitted to do so though.
“Don’t worry your pretty face. We’re not gonna let Apollo
start such a bad habit.” He winked and clicked his teeth. Olsen and Joaquin
watched the staff like hawks until they left the area. “As we were-” Apollo
kneed the man in his groin. “You shit!” He grabbed at the boy, but Apollo was
quicker than him.
“I’m going to tell dad what you did to me.” He stuck out his
tongue.
Joaquin turned red from laughter. “Solomon isn’t going to do
anything to us about you. So, save your breath, brat.” He called Apollo a
stupid and ignorant child.
Olsen jumped in and doubled down on the statement. “Do you
really think Solomon hasn’t been in the know about your mischievous antics
around the estate?” Joaquin helped Olsen to his feet. He braced himself against
the wall.
The men were correct. Solomon knew about his son’s problematic
and disruptive behavior. Unbeknownst to the boy, his misdeeds weren’t going
unpunished. Solomon already had a solution in place. Apollo turned fourteen in
July. Solomon planned to send him off to a boarding school somewhere on the
West Coast. He wasn’t supposed to know until the time came, but Olsen
accidentally revealed the secret. The distraught Apollo felt the world crash
down around him. He felt like his father was throwing him away.
You’re the reason I’m this way! Apollo screamed
internally. This is all your fault, dad. All the boy desired was the
warmth of his father’s love and the look of his gaze. You’re just a mean
bastard. Not even the pain of his mother’s death came close to the pain
caused by his father’s apathy.
Apollo sprinted past Olsen and Joaquin. He didn’t want the
men to see him cry. To bathe in the delight of his tears. Apollo ran until he
reached his father’s suite on the third floor. Solomon would hear what he had
to say, even if he didn’t want to listen.
Solomon’s meeting concluded at the exact moment Apollo came
barging into his room. When he laid eyes on his son, an annoyed sigh escaped
Solomon’s mouth. “We’ll meet again on Tuesday about this.” Solomon told the
group before they dismissed for the evening. “Yes, Apollo?” He made no attempt
to disguise his annoyance. Solomon kept his eyes focused on the folder in his
lap.
“Olsen… He said he was going to break my legs and then he burned
me with a cigarette.” Look. At. Me! He beckoned silently. Look. At.
ME! Apollo’s nails dug into his palms. Solomon never looked up.
The tired judge sighed again; he massaged his forehead. “Well,
what did you do this time, Apollo?” The doubt and irritation in his
father’s voice sent the boy over the edge. “Olsen must have had a good reason.
You haven’t exactly been on your best behavior as of recently.” His father
automatically siding with Olsen intensified the pain. Apollo wasn’t sad; he was
furious.
For the first time in his thirteen years of life, Apollo
raised his voice to his father. His own courage surprised him. “I’m not going!
You’re not gonna throw me away like trash.”
Solomon threw back his head. Another frustrated groan echoed
through the room. He couldn’t stand vague answers or statements. “Apollo…what
are you talking about?” The man’s patience with his son was thin enough. It
became thinner as the conversation persisted. Solomon was already burdened with
a heavy enough caseload. He wanted the conversation to be over with but knew
Apollo wouldn’t leave until he heard what his son had to say.
“You’re going to send me away when I turn fourteen.” Solomon
slammed the case file down on his desk. His eyes finally met Apollo’s eyes.
That was the first time Apollo had seen his eyes since Josie’s death. It nearly
took his breath away. His father’s eyes had changed so much. They weren’t the
same eyes as Apollo remembered them. The light was gone. All the boy saw was a
turbulent storm. Solomon’s eyes held an unnatural darkness. The frightened
Apollo didn’t know what to make of the change.
“Olsen’s ass is mine when I see him.” Solomon’s fountain pen
snapped in half. His hand and expensive teal shirt were stained with
black ink. “Fuck me! Now he owes me a new shirt!” Solomon dabbed the stain with
a handkerchief, but it was useless. His shirt was ruined. “This was custom made
too…” He fussed loudly.
Apollo continued arguing his point. “Did you hear me? I’m
not going. You’re not going to make me.” He told his father with quivering
lips. Apollo wouldn’t back down no matter how angry Solomon became at him.
Judge Hightower clasped his hands together. Olsen had opened
his big mouth anyways so there was no point in lying. “I’m doing this for your
betterment.” He told Apollo boarding school would make him well-rounded and keep
him out of trouble (hopefully). “You can always come home…during the holidays
or breaks. That aside, this school I picked out for you has everything you’ll
need and will need. They also have an excellent boys’ lacrosse team-”
Apollo shrieked at his father. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
Shut up!” He hyperventilated from the anger. “Stop talking! I don’t want to
hear anything else from you.” Though a child, Apollo was exceptionally perceptive.
A trait he inherited from his mother. He saw through Solomon’s lie. “God should
have taken you instead of mommy.” He shrieked again.
Solomon, unbothered, propped his elbow on the armrest. “This…little
temper tantrum,” he waved his hand through the air, “are you done now?” He
watched Apollo with an absent expression. “You can say and think whatever you
want, but I’m not gonna sit here and argue with a child who can barely wipe his
own ass.” Solomon told his son it was time to leave. He had three more case
files to review before it got too late. It didn’t matter how much Apollo
pleaded with and screamed at his father; Solomon’s decision was firm. He was
going to boarding school. It was non-negotiable.
The boy wiped his tears. He calmly walked up to his father’s
desk. Solomon watched him closely, wondering what his son was up to. In one
swift motion, Apollo knocked everything off his father’s desk onto the floor. “Now…
I’m done with my tantrum.”
Solomon looked down at the objects scattered around the desk.
“Your mother would be so disappointed in how you’ve turned out.” He shook his
head with embarrassment.
Apollo leaned into his father’s space. “She would be more
disappointed at you and how you’ve treated me. I hate this family! I hate
all the Hightowers! All of you can die! All of you!” Solomon watched his
son with a cold, hateful sneer as the young boy stormed from his room and
vanished into the dark hallway.
Apollo buried his face in the first pillow he saw and
released an ungodly, anguished scream. That scream came from the depths of his
soul. That scream was filled with four years’ worth of suppressed hatred, pain,
rage, melancholy, and resentment. “He’s a rotten son of a bitch!” Apollo
knocked over the nightstand’s lamp. “Why did you have to take her? It should
have been him!” Apollo turned his anger upward to the ceiling, to God.
“She didn’t deserve to die!” He asked God why He took kind-hearted people like
his mother. Why he allowed sweet people like his Aunt Naomie to suffer. Why
terrible people like his father and Olsen and Joaquin and every other Hightower
were allowed to continue living. “It’s not fair! It shouldn’t have been her!”
The tearful child once again buried his head in the pillow. “Why is life…so
unfair…?”
An hour passed. Apollo awoke to find he had cried himself to
sleep. It was already nighttime, about a quarter to nine. His dinner tray
awaited him on his bistro table. The meal went uneaten. Apollo had no appetite.
“I’m not going to that stupid boarding school…” He said in a low voice. “He’s
not going to force me either.” The emotionally devastated Apollo decided to
leave West Eden on his own accord. “I’ll leave it all behind. The Silver
Hightowers. West Eden. Wych Elm. All of it!” His idea sat well with him, and he
rushed to his closet to find his suitcase. “I’ll go to my cousins’ home.” The
cousins whom he referred to were Laurel, Annaliese, and Dominic.
“Of course, you’re welcomed here, Apollo. We absolutely
understand.” Laurel told him over the phone. “We’ll never turn away a Hightower
looking for a way out.”
“We recently bought a four-bedroom house too!” Dominic
jumped into the conversation. “You’ll have your own room! Although you and I
will have to share a bathroom since there’s only two.”
“We’re excited to have you!” Annaliese squealed. “I got into
cooking a lot after we left.” The woman was transparent with her young cousin.
Life outside of Wych Elm without the luxuries and comforts he was used to would
be a difficult adjustment. Anneliese had been depressed during her first year
away. Cooking served as a distraction before it became a passion.
Apollo’s cousins had renounced their ties to their Hightower
name and moved away from Wych Elm. Their new surname was simply Tower. The
cousins left because they had grown exhausted and aggravated with the family’s
abominable ways and wanted a peaceful life. They wanted no parts in the feud
with the Crimson Hightowers either. They had been tired of constantly looking
over their shoulders. It had been a decade since Apollo had last seen the trio.
His relationship with the Towers wasn’t close compared to some of the other
familial relationships. They were also older than him by six, eight, and ten
years.
As Apollo packed his suitcase, his mind wandered off. He thought
about his new, potential life among the middle class. It’s going to be hard
without the comforts you’re used to. No one would clean up his messes. No
one would bring his meals. No more allowances and vacations every month. No
more expensive clothes and presents. The new lifestyle would hit Apollo hard.
He knew he would miss his life in Wych Elm. Apollo became hesitant.
The young boy questioned if his decision to leave was the
right choice. Was it a decision made on self-preservation? Or one made out of
impulsive anger towards his father and his family? The doubts clouded his mind.
“Maybe… Maybe I should sleep on it some more before I make up my mind.” He
closed the suitcase and slid it under his bed.
However, if Apollo had stayed in Wych Elm, his life would be
miserable. If he left, he had the chance to start over and re-invent himself.
Apollo wondered if he would experience true happiness or something close
to it. He became distressed weighing the pros and cons of each choice. Apollo
felt way in over his head.
“What do you think I should do, Benjy?” Apollo asked
the stuffed turtle on his dresser. The animal was a gift from his late mother.
She made it by upcycling Apollo’s old baby blanket which her mother had
made. Josie gifted Benjy to Apollo when he was five; he and that stuffed turtle
became inseparable. “Mommy loved her arts and craft.” Apollo said as he
examined the turtle. “If I do leave this place, that means I’ll never see you
again…” He lamented. Tears formed in his eyes.
Whenever Apollo was troubled, especially late at night, he
went to his mother’s mausoleum and talked to her. Though it was late at night,
Apollo went to see his mother in case that was his last night in Wych Elm.
Josephine Hightower’s mausoleum was more a work of art than
it was a place for mourning and remembrance. Solomon was rumored to have spent a
lot of money on its construction, to the point it nearly bankrupted the
family. He made sure the finest designers, builders, and sculptors were
contracted to work on his wife’s final resting place. Even in death, his
beloved Josie deserved only the highest quality. Thirteen steps led to the
open-aired, colonnade rotunda overgrown with vines. Each step represented a
year of marriage. At the center of the structure was a sculpture of Josie on a
circular bench asleep with a book in her head. Solomon chose that pose of Josie
because she often fell asleep in the garden when reading. No matter how many
times Solomon scolded her not to sleep outside (because she could get sick),
Josie continued doing it anyways.
The mausoleum was enclosed inside a private garden so that
in death, Josie always had a view of the flowers she adored so much. Solomon’s
wife was the only Hightower interred on the estate’s grounds. Not even his own
parents were awarded the privilege. Many assumed it was Solomon’s way of
keeping Josie close to him.
Apollo praised his father for the mausoleum’s design. He
thought it was a beautiful tribute to his mother. His only issue was the angel
statue that sat atop the roof. As beautiful as the angel was, her ambiguous
expression always made Apollo’s hair stand up for some reason. Some days she
appeared pensive and detached. Some days she appeared gentle and comforting.
And then there were days when she looked wrathful; Apollo felt like the statue
could see into his very soul. It was unnerving.
Apollo plopped down on the hard bench and rested his head in
the statue’s lap. He conversed with the statue as if she were his actual
mother. “I don’t like this version of dad.” Apollo confided in the statue how
he always felt like Solomon loved Josie more. How he came third to his mother
and his Aunt Naomie. “I don’t think he ever wanted a child. I think he just
wanted to keep you happy.” Apollo’s tears fell into the statue’s lap. “At least
I’m probably higher up in the list than my Uncle Florian.” The boy laughed
through the tears.
“Is that-? Is that Apollo over there?” Olsen squinted. The
garden lamps only provided so much light. He, Horatio, Joaquin, and some other
men were outside smoking. Olsen wanted to know why the boy was outside so late
at the night. “He better not be doing shit.” The man spat on the ground.
“Apollo’s talking to his mother.” Horatio lit another
cigarette. “That’s his thing.” He told his brother to leave the boy alone.
“You’ve already ruined his day.” Horatio chastised his brother a second time
for his big mouth. “Also,” he pointed his cigarette, “you owe the patriarch a
new shirt.” He released the smoke in his lungs.
Olsen jerked his neck. “Why?” An argument broke out
between the brothers.
Joaquin tuned out the conversation and focused his attention
on the sky. Another storm was on the way in. “What’s up with this strange ass
weather of late?” He said with the cigarette in his mouth. Joaquin was tired of
the gloomy weather. He couldn’t stand it. No one paid his words any mind,
however.
“I don’t see how that’s my fault?” He touched his
chest. “He should take it out of that brat’s allow-” A stray bolt of lightning
struck the house.
Joaquin quickly ashed his cigarette against the stone
lantern. “Shit! The storm’s here!”
“We need to get inside. Now!” Horatio barked at the men. The
group hauled ass towards the nearest door.
“Shit! That brat, Apollo!” The boy was still at his mother’s
grave. As much as Olsen couldn’t stand Apollo, that was Solomon’s son. His
safety was still Olsen’s responsibility. “Apollo! Apollo! Dammit!” He swore
with frustration. The thunder drowned out his voice. “I’m going to get him!” Olsen called to the
men.
“Be careful!” Horatio and Joaquin yelled back. They stood in
the breezeway and watched Olsen as he darted across the lawn towards Josie’s
mausoleum.
Olsen screamed Apollo’s name until he was hoarse. “Apollo!
Apollo, get your stupid ass inside the house! Apollo!” He didn’t respond.
“APOLLO!”
Apollo awakened once again to find he had cried himself to
sleep. When he realized he was in the middle of a storm, he sat upright with
alarm. “Olsen?” The child squinted.
Olsen waved his hands in the air. “Apollo! Come on! We need
to get inside!” The wind began picking up. Whatever wasn’t secured or fastened
down became a dangerous projectile. Olsen finally reached the mausoleum. “We
need to-” Apollo threw himself into the man’s arms.
“Thank you…Olsen…” He cried into the man’s chest. Olsen’s
attitude towards the boy softened a bit. Apollo was still a child despite
everything.
Olsen couldn’t help but smirk . “Yeah, yeah, yeah... Let’s get
back to the house.” He held Apollo close to him. “Urgh… Damn. I can’t see
anything.” The heavy wind and rain hindered his visibility. “Just stay close to
me-” A second lightning bolt struck a tree not far off from where they stood. Olsen
told Apollo they needed to move quickly.
However, for some reason, Apollo wouldn’t budge. Olsen
reprimanded the youth. He had to push his fear aside so they could get to
safety. They couldn’t stay where they were. Apollo wouldn’t tell Olsen, but he
had a terrible feeling that something horrible was about to happen. “Olsen… I-I
don’t think… We should stay right here!”
Olsen told him no. “We don’t have time for this.” He cursed.
The man would carry Apollo if he had too. “You’re going to be fine." Olsen
grabbed at Apollo, but the child fought against him. "Stop it, Apollo! We
can’t stay here! It’s not safe!”
“Olsen, watch out!” Apollo used all of his juvenile strength
to push Olsen away from him before a heavy tree branch crushed them both.
The next bolt of lightning struck the angel atop Josie’s mausoleum.
“APOLLO!” Olsen, horrified, helplessly watched as Apollo was killed by the
statue in front of his mother’s grave.
--------------------------------
“Well, Katrina my dear, the final laugh belongs to you.”
Rowena said as she drew the curtains for the night. The storm howled on outside
her window. “Urgh… That bastard will be here soon…” Rowena referred to Alexander,
her youngest son. She was his prisoner and had been confined in her room for
almost a decade under the guise of “house arrest.” No one in all of Old Cahawba
knew what crime Rowena committed to warrant such an extensive sentence, not
even her twin sons Art and Theo. No one asked or questioned Alexander about his
mother’s crime either.
Rowena was repeatedly subjected to physical, emotional, and
psychological abuse at the hands of her sadistic son. He tried every method he
could to break her, but Rowena was tougher than a diamond. Her unwillingness to
grovel or submit only fueled Alexander’s sadism. Despite slowly wasting away in
her room, Alexander gave his mother a servant boy, Aspen, to keep her company.
Unfortunately, his presence did nothing to alleviate her suffering or solitude.
Aspen seldom spoke. When he did, it was short and to the point. He kept to
himself in the corner of Rowena’s room occupied by his crochetwork.
As predicted by Rowena, Alexander barged into his mother’s
suite unannounced with a malicious grin from ear to ear. Rowena sighed with
defeat. “Good evening…mother…” Alexander’s words lacked the warmth of love.
Instead, they were backed by cold hatred.
Alexander made himself comfortable on Rowena’s bed, wiping
his dirty shoes all over her expensive, clean sheets. To his displeasure,
Rowena picked up her book and began reading. She tried her hardest to ignore
her son’s aggravating presence. But in the spirit of depraved spitefulness,
Alexander tore the book from Rowena’s hands. He groaned when he read the cover.
“Reading Macbeth, again?” He commented on how his mother had read the
play so many times over the years she could recite every line from memory.
Macbeth was Rowena’s favorite literary work. She even read the play to her sons
when they were small.
Rowena’s youngest son, however, had never been fond of
Macbeth or any of Shakespeare’s works. The mayor found the long-deceased man’s writing
boring. He made sure to let Rowena know at every interval.
Alexander’s mother laughed uncontrollably. The vein in his
forehead pulsed with anger. Rowena leaned over the arm of her chair. “You’re no
different than Macbeth, my son.” She continued laughing but that time directly
in his face.
“Humor me.” He replied to his mother, sneering. Alexander
snapped his fingers. “Aspen, come here.” The quiet boy placed his crochetwork
in his basket and scurried over to Alexander. “Throw this in the fireplace for
me, please.” His polite tone was a contrast to the harsh one he used with his
mother. Aspen chucked the book into the fire and returned to his corner.
Rowena was unbothered by Alexander’s act of spite. She was
used to it. She was numb to it. Destroying her book was the least harmful thing
he did to her. “You’re thirty-five years old still throwing a tantrum like a
child.” Rowena crossed her arms. She smiled haughtily at her son. “Very
unbecoming of a Hightower patriarch.” Alexander’s face morphed into a sinister
expression of rage. Rowena’s comment struck a terrible nerve. She doubled down
and told Alexander he embodied Macbeth in many ways. “You’re too ambitious. You
have this perverted desire for power. You have extreme violent
tendencies. You’re a deceitful prick. And you’re greedy. Insatiably greedy.”
Rowena told Alexander he would meet his downfall just like Macbeth did. “The
only difference between you and Macbeth is that he was once a noble and
honorable man before he fell to the corruption of his desires. You on
the other hand, never possessed those traits.” Rowena told Alexander he was
born with a darkness inside him. She got
up and walked over to her vanity. “Cornelius was always going on about how
Nolan couldn’t be trusted to lead this family.” Rowena believed Alexander would
be all of their downfall.
“You’re forgetting one important thing, mother.” Alexander
bit into the crisp apple he brought with him. “Behind every deranged Macbeth is
an equally deranged Lady Macbeth.” Rowena cut her eyes and began
removing her makeup. “I’ll never understand your need to doll yourself up every
day as if you have somewhere to go. As if you’ll be expecting guests.” He said
with smugness.
“I would if you allowed Theo to see me.” Theo was the only
one of Rowena’s sons who truly loved and cared about her. He had longed to see
his mother but was unable to because of Alexander. “I miss him…” Rowena said
with sorrow. She rubbed her stomach.
“Pssh!” Alexander became annoyed. “You’re not missing out on
much with mama’s boy.” He said with disgust.
“I remember you were once a mama’s boy too…” The anger
returned to Alexander’s face. He clenched the apple tightly.
“That was before I realized how much of a weird bitch
you were.” Alexander threw the apple at the vanity. Rowena’s makeup flew
everywhere.
She snapped. “If only Cornelius was alive to see how you
turned-” Alexander grabbed his mother by the hair and yanked her neck back. She
screamed at him to let her go.
“Cornelius was weak…” He said in a strained voice.
“Especially towards the end of his pathetic, senile life.” Alexander’s hatred
of his mother stemmed from her scheming antics and the incestuous attachment
she had towards him while he was growing up. As he matured, Alexander noticed
how easily manipulated by Rowena his father was. His mother wanted a puppet.
She wanted to mold Cornelius’ successor into the ideal man worthy of leading
the Hightower family. Alexander would not be her puppet. “You have a lot of
audacity to sit here and call me ambitious and greedy and power hungry
and deceitful.” Alexander was so infuriated he shook violently. He reminded
Rowena that she was responsible for her own cousin’s death and then took
her husband.
“Let go of me, Alex-” He punched the vanity’s mirror with
his hand.
Alexander tightly cupped Rowena’s mouth. “I’ve told you to never
to speak my name.” He snarled at the trembling woman. “I don’t ever want to
hear it coming out of this dirty mouth of yours.” He shoved her head away
aggressively. Aspen continued ignoring the hostile and violent scene before
him. “When you create monsters, don’t be surprised when they eventually turn on
you.” Alexander regained his composure.
Rowena immediately whipped around and spat in his face. “You
hateful ass bastard… I should have terminated my pregnancy like Lilia demanded
me to.” When Rowena found out she was pregnant with her third child, Lilia came
to her. The old woman revealed the ominous dream she had to Rowena. She urged
her daughter-in-law to terminate the pregnancy.
Alexander cackled at his mother’s statement. “Lilia was a
spoon and a knife short of a flatware set. I’m not trying to hear it.”
On the other side of Rowena’s door, Art approached with
security. “Alexander.” He called his brother’s name. “Security needs a word.”
Art tapped lightly on the door. Alexander gave him permission to enter. Upon
entering, Art made sure his eyes stayed forward. He never once looked at his
mother.
“What’s your report?” Alexander directed at his chief
security officer.
“It’s in regard to Mister Elias and his father Mister
Leland. About forty minutes ago, a violent altercation took place down in the
latter’s suite. Mister Leland suffered severe injuries and is on his way to the
hospital as we speak. He’ll more than likely need a Head CT. Mister Elias has
been placed under house arrest in his suite.” That was all the man had to
report at the moment. They questioned Elias about the assault, but he refused
to say anything to them. “Your eldest brother, Mister Nolan, is currently
throwing a fit over the punishment.” He made his irritation and dislike of
Nolan known to Alexander.
Alexander, intrigued, paced back and forth in front of the
men. “I wasn’t aware little Elias had such a fiery side.” He spoke with
amusement. “I can’t wait to hear his side of the story.” He would first,
however, discuss the incident with Leland once the man had recovered. Alexander
was well aware of Elias’ close partnership with his brother, though he was
still ignorant of their scheme. “Thank you, Tory. You may go-”
“Mama!” Theo attempted to shove past the wall of men.
“Theo, don’t.” Art restrained his younger brother. “You
can’t-” He threw back his head. Art yelped; his nose was broken. “God dammit,
Theodore!” The older twin stumbled backwards into one of the security officers.
Before Theo could reach his mother, Alexander blocked his
path to her. He cautiously shook his head. A warning. Theo clenched and
unclenched his hands. He never dared to challenge his younger brother. He
always followed Alexander blindly and obeyed whatever order was given to him.
Their mother was a different situation. The older brother had grown tired of
her mistreatment at Alexander’s hands. “Alex-”
“Our mother is unwell, Theo. It’s best we leave her alone
for the rest of the evening.” Theo looked over at Rowena. She was a little
disheveled and downcast but looked fine as far as health.
“Alexander…please… Please let me see Mama. G-give me just
an-an hour to visit with her.” His request was denied. “…Alexander…” Theo
looked down at his mother again. Rowena forced a smile for him, despite the devastation
she felt over Alexander’s decision.
It’s okay. She mouthed to her disappointed son.
Rowena didn’t want him in trouble with Alexander. His own brothers weren’t even
exempt from his violent outbursts.
“No…” Theo argued back against the decision. “No…I’m not
going to accept this.” He raised his voice to Alexander. A wildfire of anger
burned in the man’s eyes.
Art hurried to his brother’s side. He still held his
bleeding nose. “Theo… You don’t want to do this.” But he did. Theo pushed his
twin away. His mind was made up.
“What did she even do to you to deserve this?” Theo called
their mother’s captivity cruel and unusual. “I-I mean… I-I don’t understand! At
least… At least let her have some visitors, Alexander… This… This a horrible
way to treat someone, especially your mother!” He told his brother it wasn’t
right. Ten years locked away in her room should have been more than enough time
served. “Whatever she did do, I-I’m sure it was for a good reason at
least. Everything she’s done over the years has been for us, her sons.” Theo
told Alexander he wouldn’t leave until his brother changed his mind.
“Theo… You need to stop this. Alexander’s our head of family.”
Art once again tried to reason with his twin.
“And we’re his brothers Arthur, his older brothers.
When he’s doing something wrong, it’s-it’s our duty as his older brothers to
let him know.” A terrified look appeared on Art’s face. The spat between his
brothers wouldn’t end well.
Alexander, quiet and calm, reached out his hand to Tory. The
security officer handed over his taser. Alexander turned the device up to the
highest setting. He casually walked up to Theo, who was still at it with Art,
and used the taser on him. The agonizing scream that escaped Theo’s mouth was
spine-chilling.
Rowena shrieked and pleaded with Alexander to stop. “You’re
going to kill him, Alexander! You’re going to kill your brother!” She lunged at
her son only to be restrained. “Stop it! You’re going to kill my baby!” That
last statement stopped Alexander.
Art tried to catch his twin with his one arm, but the barely
conscious man was too heavy for him. His body collided with the floor. “Theo?
Theo? Theo!” Art frantically shook the man. He released a low groan. “Thank
God…” He said and laid his head across Theo’s chest.
Alexander ordered security to take Theo back to his room.
“He needs to go straight to the hospital.” Rowena interjected. She was still
restrained and unable to get to her son.
“You need to shut up, Rowena.” He barked at his
mother. Alexander told the woman it was a matter between brothers. Her concerns
and comments weren’t needed. “Get him out of here.” He snapped at the men. “And
you mother, have a delightful evening.” Alexander’s devilish smirk was
the last thing Rowena saw before the door closed behind him.
Rowena tore apart her room after they left. She unleashed
every ounce of anger and frustration on her furniture and belongings. Aspen
continued crocheting, unbothered. “Damn that bastard ass son of mine! Him and
Art can burn in Hell!” She broke a chair in two against the floor. Rowena
inhaled and exhaled to calm her temper. “The time’s come to use my ace in the
hole against that smug son of a bitch.” After that night, Rowena would no
longer be Alexander’s prisoner and punching bag. Those days of humiliation and
abuse were finally over.
Hidden behind her vanity was a secret compartment. Rowena
removed a sealed, red envelope. She beckoned Aspen. “Yes, Miss Rowena?” The boy
answered her in a deadpan voice. His uninterested expression reflected his
tone.
Rowena handed Aspen the envelope. “What I’m about to ask of
you is very, very important. This task is more important than your own
life.” The boy cocked his head to the side. “Take this envelope to Nolan
Hightower. And don’t let anyone know about it, especially that insufferable
bastard Alexander.” The contents of the envelope contained the catalyst for her
son’s downfall.
Rowena’s relationship with her cousin’s son
was…non-existent. The boy was ignored by Rowena after his mother’s death. She
never showed Nolan maternal love or tried to build some type of relationship
with him. Nolan was always Cornelius’s other son to her. “Hmm… How did
he…?” Rowena stared down at the envelope. She wondered how Alexander made the
connection between her and Katrina’s death. Her cousin had died of respiratory
failure after Rowena spiked her tea with a dangerous quantity of opium. No one
knew what Rowena did because she never spoke about her crime.
Alexander’s knowledge of Katrina’s death and Rowena’s part
in it now longer mattered in the end. She wouldn’t face the repercussions of
her past sins anyways. “Miss Rowena… What are you doing?” Aspen sounded almost
concerned about his mistress.
Rowena pulled back the curtains and flung open the window.
The storm had begun to die down. She lamented not being able to see the moon
and stars one last time as she climbed on top of the railing. The cool wind
felt immaculate against her hot skin. Rowena felt free for the first time in a decade.
“Please tell Theo I love him and that I’m sorry.” The woman began laughing and
rejoicing into the night. “‘Now take me light! Now cover my darkness!’” She
closed her eyes. Aspen watched as Rowena jumped to her death.
Author's Note: So, I know two chapters ago I said this series was going on hiatus, and it is. The reason why I published two more chapters is because this chapter and the characters' stories are the turning point/build up to the story's climax. I felt it was best to go on hiatus right here.
As I said two chapters ago, I like to take intermittent breaks from working on certain stories to work on others. I feel like it helps keep my writing fresh. There are times where I do get "bored" working on the same story series for days on end and my writing quality begins to decline due to that boredom. When I'm ready to come back to TGITWE, I'll put the update in the author's note section of the chapter I published.
