The Girl in the Wych Elm: Part Six

 

6. The Man Bound & the Red Hound

Lilia Hightower, Alexander’s paternal grandmother, was a superstitious individual. He always believed the woman was just senile. Lilia spent the last three years of her miserable existence wandering the halls of Old Cahawba like a ghostly specter, lost in her constant rambling. Since Lilia was the mother of Cornelius, the previous head and Alexander’s father, she was left to her own devices. Everyone moved around the woman as if she didn't exist.

The mayor of Wych Elm chortled loudly as he made the Sign of the Cross. "Oh, Grandmother Lilia! You weren't a batty old crone after all." Lilia was long deceased; she died ten years prior when Alexander was twenty-five. Alexander recalled the old superstition he once heard Lilia mutter one time.

If a knife fell on the floor, a man would come to visit. If a spoon, then a woman would come. Alexander had dropped his fork which meant the visitor that came to him that night was something...else.

Something supernatural.

"And here I thought you were nothing more than a stupid nursery rhyme. I guess you are real." He told the uninvited guest.

The ghastly reverent hung from the tree outside Alexander's window. A dark hood covered their face with the rope bound tightly around their neck. Their hands were locked in metal cuffs which dug into the wrists. Alexander watched the body as it swayed back in forth in hypnotic rhythm. The frightening entity was exactly as the rhyme described. 

 

Where is the Bound Man?

Where is the Bound Man?

You see him in that tree?

He’s swinging in the tree!

 

His ropes are bound so tightly.

His ropes are bound so tightly.

So, no one hears his screams.

They’ll never hear him scream!

 

Here comes the Bound Man.

There goes the Bound Man.

He doesn't make a sound cause

His feet don’t touch the ground!

 

We better run away!

You better run away!

If he catches up to you,

You’ll hang with him too!

 

The macabre Bound Man’s rhyme became closely associated with the High Families over the years due to their nature for excessive violence. Alexander and his three older brothers used to sing the rhyme as children, ignorant to its disturbing lyrics. Cornelius, on the other hand, loathed the rhyme. Any time he heard its words, Cornelius would berate his sons. The brothers could never figure out why their father was so bothered by the rhyme when he was alive. They always thought he overreacted too much. It wasn't until Cornelius was on his deathbed, Alexander learned the reason why.

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Florian snapped his fingers in Solomon’s face, breaking the man from his thoughts. “Solomon, what’s wrong? What’s outside?” Florian strolled over to the window. “What are you looking at?” Solomon’s expression darkened. Florian asked him again what was wrong, only for Solomon to ignore the question.

The knock at the door saved Solomon from being asked a third time by his brother. It was Horatio and Dante. Solomon had called them to his suite. “I appreciate you both for coming so last minute. I know you two are busy men." Solomon apologized for interrupting their evening. He wouldn't keep them long. Solomon motioned for them to have a seat in the armchairs. Florian had already claimed one.

"It's not a problem, Solomon." Horatio made himself comfortable beside Florian. "There's nothing of greater importance than a meeting with the patriarch. May I?" He asked to pour a glass of Solomon's high-quality rum. The judge gave permission with a nod.

Dante opted to stand. There was one armchair left. He refused to take the last seat from the patriarch. "It's fine, Dante." Solomon placed a hand on his shoulder. "I've been sitting all day. I need to stay for a while."

He thanked Solomon for his kind generosity and settled in the chair on the other side of Florian. Solomon informed Dante he was welcome to a drink as well. 

The reason for their summons had to do with the body found in the tree. The judge of Wych Elm had a task for the two men. He wanted information on that body. “I want her name, who her family is or was, and how she died.” Solomon wanted every bit of information on the girl Dante and Horatio could dig up. 

Florian asked why he was even interested in the body. "She's probably a nobody anyways." He nonchalantly threw up his hands.

Solomon's attention briefly returned to the window. “You didn’t notice how guarded Alexander was when I brought up the topic?” Florian's face lit up with embarrassment. “Alexander has never shied away from his crimes. And yet, the mention of that body had him on the defensive." Solomon noticed a brief trace of distress in his counterpart's eyes.  He thought he was mistaken at first until he replayed the interaction again and again over in his head. Solomon was certain that Alexander knew more than he was letting on. An innocent man had nothing to hide. But then again, Alexander was the furthest person from innocent. The man was damn near evil incarnate.

Horatio poured himself another glass full of rum. He swirled the dark liquid around before he took a sip. “Enid Sinclair has a girl, Sara, who’s relatively popular among the low-born men of the Crimson.” Alexander had a rule: no men of Hightower were allowed in Enid's brothels. He worried their lips would loosen if they had enough alcohol in their systems. However, his rule didn't deter those low-born members from sneaking around. Horatio learned through a contact from Sara that the body was kept in the Old Cahawba crypt under heavy watch. "Only a select few are allowed downstairs in the crypt." The guards that watched the body were picked by Alexander specifically.

Dante gripped his chin. “Now why would our dear mayor go to so much trouble over a meaningless body?” He suspected the girl was connected to someone of great importance. Someone above the High Families. “You don’t think-?” Dante abruptly stopped mid-sentence. “Uh, Solomon?"

“S-sorry…” Solomon's attention had again returned to the window. The three men turned and looked, but saw only the darkness of night. Florian wondered why Solomon was so fixated on the window. “Anyways,” Solomon cleared his throat, “back to the matter at hand. My father told me that after our family split off, one of the Silver Hightowers took the blueprints to Old Cahawba with them.” The stolen blueprints were used in West Eden's construction. Their estate was built in the mirror image of Old Cahawba.

The revelation was new information to the men and left them astonished. "So, where are these blueprints?" Florian asked, propping his feet up on the table. Dante thumped the side of his head. He told Florian to put his feet down and act like a Silver Hightower. "Next time use your words." The man grumbled, complying with Dante's demand.

The blueprints to Old Cahawba were supposedly stashed away in the West Eden library. Unfortunately, Solomon had no idea where the blueprints were in the library but he would find out. "Have Bianca, James, and Willow search for them." Solomon told Horatio and Dante specifically. Florian felt left out. He hoped  Solomon had saved him an important task.

Dante squinted at Solomon. “So, we're going to break into Old Cahawba and steal the body?” Solomon shook his head disapprovingly.

“No. We’re men of Hightower, not lowly dogs of Da Silva.” B&E was uncouth for men of their status. “We get the swine to do our dirty work.” The swine in question was the Sinclair family who Solomon recently struck a deal with. “Enid and Cyrus weren’t pleased with the Rosenbaums’ nomination. So, they came to us with an offer." He flashed a devious smirk at the men.

"You're welcome, by the way." Florian said to Solomon.

Dante leaned against the armrest. “Enid Sinclair…Alexander’s old whore?” He howled with laughter at the irony. “I guess they’re right about ‘Hell hath no fury like a scorned woman.’” 

While the hunt for the blueprints was underway, Solomon would squeeze all the intel out of Enid's women until he could crush his rivals. “I need to know how many men at a time Alexander has watching the crypt and when they trade off shifts." Solomon reminded them to be discrete and precise. He would not tolerate failure. Their tasks were of the highest priority and importance. All three men gave Solomon their promise.

Horatio finished his last cup of rum and returned the glass to the tray. Someone would come by and collect it later. “Understood. I’ll pay Enid a visit tomorrow and see what’s new.” Dante, on the other hand, would oversee the search for the Old Cahawba blueprints. The two men bid Solomon and Florian goodnight then excused themselves.

Florian helped himself to another glass of Solomon’s rum. “Your plan is working out as predicted.” The man snickered deviously. Some of the Grand Families were turning on their alliance already. The Sinclair family allied themselves with the Silvers while the Holloway family paid Old Cahawba a visit, so Florian heard. The demise of the Grand Families wouldn’t be long. Solomon would turn his attention on the Crimson Hightowers next. “Is there-is there anything you need me to do?” Solomon told his brother in the nicest way possible to stay out of the way. Dante and Horatio would take care of things. Florian wasn’t happy with his older brother’s answer.

Florian Hightower wasn’t incompetent by any means but he wasn’t wholly competent either. He wasn’t as goal-oriented or driven like Solomon, always distracted and consumed by his own pleasures. Solomon saw his brother as a liability rather than an asset. He told Florian it wasn’t personal; it was business. 

The devastated Florian smashed his glass against the table, shattering both objects. Glass covered the area around the table. “You know, I can be useful to you, Solomon! You treat Horatio and Dante better than you do me. I'm your brother. And yet you treat me like-like I’m a doll on a shelf, only using me when it suits you!” Florian was pissed. Most of all, he was incredibly hurt. All he desired was to be of use to his brother. He felt like Solomon wouldn't let him.

The Silver Patriarch crossed his arms. “Yet here you are, throwing a tantrum and breaking things like a spoiled child. If you want to prove your usefulness to me, then show me.” Solomon didn’t care about words. They meant nothing to him if one’s actions never reflected them. “The difference between you and them is that they’re committed to the cause, always. You aren’t. You never were. You never had to be. You were given everything, never having to work for any of it. That's why everything is a simple game to you.” Solomon told him with a disgusted tone. “I had to work for everything. I had to prove myself while you were allowed to be mediocre.” He slapped his hand against his palm.

The relationship dynamics of the Silver Hightower siblings had always been chaotic. Naomie, Solomon’s and Florian’s older sister, was the first child and only daughter. Solomon was the middle child and first son while Florian was the last child and second son. Solomon was often overlooked by his parents in favor of his sister, who had been sickly from birth. Naomie required around the clock attention and care. Florian being the baby of the three was naturally doted on and spoiled. Strangely enough, Solomon adored Naomie but didn't care too much for Florian. On the other hand, Florian adored Solomon but didn't like Naomie due to the attention his brother always gave her.

Florian would have been patriarch of the Silver Hightowers had it not been for Prospero, their great-uncle and Solomon’s predecessor. Prospero saw much of himself in Solomon and chose him as the next family head despite the outcry from his nephew. Solomon’s ascension to patriarch caused the rift between him and his parents to deepen.

“I’m really sorry…Solomon.” How had Florian forgotten the way their parents treated him and Naomie over his brother. The truth was painful. Solomon was everything Florian said he was. “I’ll prove my usefulness to you.” Florian's greatest fear was being cast aside by Solomon in favor of someone else. He would get serious. Florian would work hard to become the right-hand man Solomon could call upon. 

The younger Hightower lowered his head and excused himself. As he trudged past his brother to the door, Solomon gabbed him. He pulled Florian into his embrace and kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, my dear brother." The affection improved Florian's mood a little. Though Solomon seldom showed it, he did love Florian. He knew Florian would do anything to please him.

When Florian shut the door behind him, Solomon walked over to the window. It began to rain. "Do you know what Alexander is hiding from me?" The patriarch addressed the Bound Man who dangled in the rainy wind. Solomon leaned against the windowsill, unbothered their presence as Alexander had been. Neither Hightower man knew the other had been visited by the Bound Man.

Solomon’s very first encounter with the phantom was in one of his nightmares. Since that first nightmare, the Bound Man appeared to him again and again. Eventually, the Bound Man began showing up while Solomon was awake, no longer confined to his nightmares. They would quietly stalk the judge around West Eden and Wych Elm at every turn. Solomon no longer knew a moment of peace. He felt the Bound Man's obscured eyes always watching him. Their presence was a nuisance. 

The Bound Man's appearance was connected to the girl in the tree. That was the hypothesis Solomon had formed. The entity appeared after the body was discovered and trees were a connection between the two. Solomon was certain of it. That was why he needed the girl's body as soon as possible. The body, more than likely, was the key to ending the Bound Man's haunting.

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The Red Hound of Hightower, was the infamous moniker of Ishmael Da Silva, Alexander's right-hand man and enforcer. The sheriff of Wych Elm trailed after the mayor like a clingy, wet puppy desperate for his master's attention. The man's loyalty to Alexander was a blind one. Ishmael despised that nickname, however. If he caught sound of the words from anyone's lips, it was a bloodbath. The assault was worse if the Red Hound was in a foul mood that day.

Despite the fear of Ishmael's wrath and retaliation, sometimes it couldn't be helped. When Alexander told him to jump, Ishmael asked, "How high?" When Alexander told him to dig a hole, he asked, "How deep?" When Alexander needed him to kill, Ishmael simply asked, "Who?" Sheriff Da Silva was a loyal hound all right. A foolish, obedient hound with no sense of autonomy whenever Alexander was around. The mayor man had an almost spell-like influence over the sheriff. Ishmael's obsession and overprotective nature of Alexander disturbed the residents of Wych Elm and the members of the High Families alike. 

There was so much more the Ishmael's character. He was an embarrassment, a stain on the Da Silva family's name. His family, who held all the positions of law enforcement within Wych Elm, used to be feared second only to the Hightowers. The Red Hound had sullied that reputation after he became the patriarch. The Da Silva name and its reputation became linked to the Crimson Hightowers, and not in a good way. Often times, they were collectively known as, "The Hounds of Hightower." They became the laughingstock of the High Families to the people of Wych Elm.

Ishmael, much like his "master" Alexander, was an enemy to everyone, and a friend to none. Even his own family despised him. He was treated as a pariah instead of a patriarch. Too naive and incompetent to see, Alexander had the Red Hound strung up tightly on puppet strings.

"Christ, Ishmael! We're using a woodchipper, seriously?" Tristan's mouth was agape with horror and mild disgust. Samuel couldn't partake in the gruesome act. He opted to dismember the bodies instead. Ishmael told both brothers to man up.

"You've been involved in worse." He shoved a severed woman's arm down into the woodchipper. Blood splashed him and Tristan. Samuel ran behind a tree to vomit. "Pansy." The crooked sheriff chuckled. He took a quick cigarette break. "Drink a ginger ale and tough it out, princess." Ishmael told Samuel. They still had five more bodies to dismember and shred. It was going to be an exhaustingly long night for the men.

Samuel shuffled up to Ishmael and Tristan. He looked dreadful, like an undead corpse. "Hanna and the women are finished with the second house. They're moving on to the next one." He informed the men in a gloomy tone before shuffling back over to the stack of bodies wrapped in tarps.

Ishmael, amused, erupted into laughter. "Maybe my new disposal method went a little too far." He watched as Samuel vomited a second time. "I don't remember him having such a weak stomach when we were kids. This can't be the same Samuel that blew up rabbits, mice, and squirrels with firecrackers."

"Yeah... there's a difference between blowing up Bambi's woodland friends and making minced human meat in a woodchipper." Tristan pushed a man's leg down into the machine. "Why didn't we just stuff their bodies in drums of acid and then dump them out to sea?" That was their usual method of disposal which Tristan preferred. It was a simple process. It involved less blood and... macabre measures. Ishmael informed the man he had cut ties with the supplier for the drums of acid. "He started asking for too much money." He inhaled his cigarette.

Tristan leaned against a tree. He looked at Ishmael with a doubtful expression. "You killed the man, didn't you?" The sheriff raised his hands; he was guilty.

"It was a shame too." Ishmael grabbed another woman's arm from the pile of body parts. "I really like the guy, but he started to get too greedy. Started charging a leg and an... arm for drums of acid." Ishmael laughed again then threw the severed arm at Tristan. The man stepped out of the way. The arm struck the tree before fell on the ground. Tristan glanced down at the limb then back at Ishmael. “By the way, congratulations on your membership into the High Families.” He said with a cigarette clenched between his teeth. Ishmael prayed the news had reached Arien already. The Red Hound itched to rub the loss in the man’s face. He and Arien hated each other. “The little bitch is probably somewhere kicking up dirt right now. I bet he wishes he had stayed his ass away from here.”

Tristan picked up the limb and tossed it into the machine. “There has to be a name for the mental illness he’s suffering from.” Arien’s decision to return to Wych Elm after the brutal murder of his family was an enigma. Tristan couldn’t wrap his head around it. He would never, under any circumstance, work with the people who robbed him of everything he had.

“Yeah… it’s called being delusional.” Ishmael painted the ground with his spit. “And stupid.” He then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Enough about that asshole.” The Red Hound changed the topic. There was something important he had wanted to ask Tristan since his membership into the High Families.

Ishmael asked his childhood friend to be truthful with him. Did he really plan to go against the High Families with the Grand Families?

Tristan hunched over, laughing. “How do you think those whispers around town started?” Ishmael was impressed. He called Tristan a cold-hearted son of a bitch. 

“So, you never planned to be loyal from the start?” Tristan shook his head. Ishmael wanted information. “What was your end goal?”

“To be rewarded.” He said with a smile. Ishmael raised a brow at the vague answer.

Tristan Rosenbaum despised his family’s “business.” He never wanted any part in it to begin with. Tristan wanted a way out; he wanted something better for his family. Hamona had her vineyards and olive groves. Jerome had his meat farm. Hell, Enid’s business was a little more reputable than his. That was his desire. That was his dream. That had been his lifelong goal.

Tristan was grateful to the Da Silva family, despite Ishmael’s occasional mistreatment of him over the years. The man’s ancestors had saved Tristan’s ancestor, Hugo Rosenbaum. According to Rosenbaum family lore, Hugo was falsely accused of a crime some hundred years back. The Da Silvas’ pleaded his case to the High Families and had Hugo’s life spared, who repaid the latter by serving as his “cleaner.”

“Truth be told, Ishmael, I never anticipated joining the High Families.” He carried a handful of body parts over to the woodchipper. One by one, Tristan dropped each part down into the vat. “Don’t get me wrong, I have no complaints. This is nice.” Tristan said the loud part silently. He didn’t care for the High Families. His new status as a member meant little to him. Any vote his family made would always align with Ishmael’s. That’s how much he cared about the politics of Wych Elm and its High Families.

Ishmael bumped elbows with Tristan since their gloves were covered in blood. “Don’t worry my friend. You’ll be rewarded extensively.” The sheriff winked.

“I do have one other request.” Ishmael threw a curious glance over his shoulder. “When the High Families destroy the Grand Families, leave Fabio for me.” The Red Hound’s cackles echoed through the dark woods. He asked Tristan what his beef with Fabio was. The Rosenbaum man said he really hated the guy. “He’s a dick.” Ishmael gave his friend his word. “I won't lie. I do feel some level of guilt over what I'm doing." Tristan liked some of the alliance members. Angelo, Jerome, and Elease, especially her, didn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire. Unfortunately, it was unavoidable.

“A wise man, probably a psychopath or someone, once said, ‘You don’t get ahead in life without stepping on top of some people.’” Ishmael stared down at his blood-soaked gloves. That quote was the life mantra that kept him going. He picked up the last batch of body parts and dumped them wildly into the woodchipper. “All the world’s a stage, Tristan. Some of us have been given better roles in the play than others.” Tristan merely accepted the role that was offered to him by the directors. The role of a pawn. All of them, Ishmael included, were pawns on Alexander’s and Solomon’s chessboard.

“I see…” Tristan lowered his head. He tried to hide his guilt-riddled expression from Ishmael, but the Red Hound still noticed.

Ishmael told his friend it was okay to feel some guilt, but not to let that guilt dissuade him from his personal goal. For if Tristan and his family ever thought about double crossing the High Families, they too would meet their ends headfirst inside a woodchipper.

 

The Girl in the Wych Elm: Part Five

 

5. A Deal with the Hightowers

The High Families to the people of Wych Elm were like the Boogeyman to children. But while the Boogeyman was the stuff of fiction, the evil that was the High Families was very much real. The horrors that were their tyranny, oppression, and violence lingered over the town like a dark curtain for over 200 years.

Wych Elm native, Hamona Belleweather, nearly wept tears of joy intermixed with decades of ongoing sorrow. The woman of thirty-two years had dreamed of that day since she was ten. The violent nature of the High Families' were a universal experience for all who lived in Wych Elm.

Hamona was one of her parents' two children but their only surviving one. She had an older brother, Hiram, who had been three years her senior. The two Belleweather siblings were nearly inseparable; their love for one another ran deep.

Unfortunately, Hiram met his untimely end at the young age of thirteen. His death permanently altered the Belleweather family.  The circumstances of Hiram's death were still a mystery to that day but Hamona knew the High Families were responsible. Hamona knew from the depths of her soul that Alexander in particular was the guilty culprit. Hamona couldn't erase the trauma and tragedy of that rainy evening from her mind even if she wanted to.

The sheriff at the time was Ezra Da Silva, the father of Ishmael. It was he who brought the unfortunate news of Hiram's death to Hamona's doorstep along with his lifeless body. She remembered every excruciating detail of that scene as if it had occurred only yesterday.

She remembered the color draining from her father's face along with the light in his eyes. She remembered his expression of disbelief before it morphed into despair. She remembered the shrieks of her mother echoing off the walls of their home. She remembered seeing her mother cradle Hiram's body which was poorly wrapped in a shroud. She remembered Sheriff Da Silva's unwillingness to further investigate Hiram's death.

Most of all, Hamona remembered her first and last encounter with Alexander Hightower. She seethed with an indescribable rage as she thought back on it. Alexander, accompanied by two of his nursemaids, came to her doorstep with flowers and condolences. It would have seemed like a kinda gesture had the teenager's expression reflected his words. The sly smirk on Alexander's face told Hamona everything she needed. The Belleweather family were just one of countless victims wronged by the High Families.

After the Hiram's death sent her father to an early grave and left her mother in a state of perpetual catatonia, Hamona swore on her brother's grave she would spend the rest of her life plotting Alexander's downfall.

Together with her childhood friends, Fabio Belnades, Elease and Easton Monte-Sano, Hamona established the Grand Families to oppose the High Families. Originally an alliance of three, the Grand Families expanded into seven members. They were joined by the Rosenbaum, Holloway, Sinclair, and Jirov families. All seven Grand Families came from affluent backgrounds rooted in various business ventures.

Hamona's family-owned vineyards and olive groves. The Belnades' owned and operated a large distillery which produced the highest quality of wine and olive oil in the region. The Monte-Sano's owned and operated the area's only lumber mill; the Holloways were fishermen. The Jirovs had a large meat farm; the Sinclairs controlled the Red Light District along with the clubs and bars within its boundaries. And lastly, the Rosenbaums' were "cleaners." Though wealthy in their own right, the combined wealth of the seven families came nowhere close to even one of the High Families' fortune.

Before Fabio had the chance to refill Jerome's cup, the man swiftly placed his hand over the glass. He had had enough alcohol for the evening. "Thank you, Fabio. Your wine was delicious, but two glasses is all that I'm having this evening." Fabio responded with a warm smile and returned the wine bottle to its previous spot. Jerome wasn't much of a recreational drinker. He disliked substances that clouded his mind, judgement, and thought processes. "If there are any unopened bottles left after our meeting, I would be more than happy to take them home with me." The wine would be for his wife and her sister. Jerome joked that the women drank more wine than fish drank water.

"I would too if I were Alisha." Fabio responded. "She lives a comfortable life and has a husband that takes care of her wonderfully." Jerome thanked the man for his kind-hearted compliment.

Unlike the other six members of the Grand Families, Jerome Jirov was the only member who wasn't native to Wych Elm. His wife and her sister were, however. Jerome came from abroad as he had an accent. Where Jerome immigrated from originally? The man never disclosed to anyone, even his own wife. Jerome was a private individual and had always been. Another reason why he didn't consume large amounts of alcohol. Jerome never wanted to risk exposing his private matters to the wrong people. He trusted Hamona and Fabio wholeheartedly, even considering them his close friends, but Jerome's desire to uphold his privacy outweighed his friendship with the pair. It was for a good reason too.

People who came from outside Wych Elm were treated as pariahs. They were not to be trusted. A lie spread around town by the High Families. It was just another way for them to maintain their authority over the residents. Outsiders often left quicker than they arrived. Jerome was the only exception. He somehow built a comfortable life for himself within Wych Elm despite the constant discrimination he experienced over the years.

Three decades went by and Jerome was treated less and less terribly as his wealth grew. There were, however, some people who still viewed him as an outsider and remained wary of him. Jerome didn't mind so long as no one messed with his family and his business. He couldn't care less about the community's lingering sentiments towards him.

Fraternal twins, Elease and Easton of the Monte-Sano family ceased their bickering the moment they stepped inside the lodge. Hamona hurried to hug her pregnant friend. "I swear your stomach grew two sizes overnight." She giggled, rubbing Elease's bulging stomach. Elease was expecting twins, a boy and a girl. Twins were common in the Monte-Sano family. Their surname meant, "Mountain of Health."

Elease placed her hands on top of Hamona's. "Even though I'm dreading the idea of having two newborns at the same time, I'm a little relieved. I'll have a boy and a girl." She smiled with joy. Elease and her husband were content with having only two children. They didn't want any more beyond that due to the high possibility of having another set of twins.

Jerome playfully teased the young mother-to-be. "There's no fun in only having two children." His laughter came from the pits of his stomach.

Easton rolled his eyes hard. He grabbed the wine bottle beside him and poured a full cup. "There's no fun in having eight, screaming children running amok either." The jab was directed at Jerome who was a father of eight. He had four boys and girls each a year apart from the other. Jerome had previously expressed interest in wanting more.

The Monte-Sano twins were like night and day. Elease was the kind, friendly, and approachable one of the two. Easton was snarky, somewhat standoffish at times, and rather pessimistic. He had few friends compared to his older twin.

Jerome Jirov rose to his feet. He was a large man who towered over everyone in the alliance. Despite his intimidating appearance, Jerome was quite the sweetheart. He walked over to Elease and Hamona. "May I?" He asked to touch her stomach. Elease granted permission. "In my home country, having many children is a sign of great wealth." Jerome's eyes shone brightly with excitement when he felt a kick. Elease commented that her twins were fonder of a stranger than their own uncle.

Easton made a sour face at his sister. "More like a sign of irresponsibility and impulsivity..." He grumbled before he sipped at his drink again. Elease snapped at her twin, chastising Easton about his rude remark. She demanded he apologize to Jerome. "I mean, I'm not completely wrong about what I said." Easton shrugged shamelessly. Elease huffed with disappointment when her brother wouldn't apologize for his remark. Thankfully, Jerome wasn't offended in the slightest. "See! Jerome's not even mad." Elease, still upset over Easton's rudeness, walked away from him. Hamona followed close behind.

The smile on Fabio's face widened some more. "That's the beauty in the new Wych Elm we're going to establish." He leaned his elbows on the table. "A society where people are free to criticize and speak their minds without retaliation." Elease's frustrated expression vanished. Jerome nodded with approval.

The last of the three Grand Families finally arrived to the lodge. Tristan Rosenbaum along with his two younger siblings, Samuel and Hanna. Cousins Peter and Angelo Holloway. Enid Sinclair and her younger brother Cyrus.

Fabio's smile turned into a scowl when he locked eyes with the Rosenbaum siblings. The atmosphere in the room became tense. Samuel, Fabio, and Tristan had no need for words; their callous expressions said everything. Fabio was distrustful of the family and had always been. He would never trust them.

The Rosenbaum siblings were the former childhood friends of Ishmael and Aureliano Da Silva. Hanna even dated Aureliano a few years back. Tristan claimed his family had cut ties with the Da Silvas. They grew tired of the family's constant mistreatment of them.

Hamona and the other Grand Families took their word at face value. The Rosenbaums were welcomed into the alliance with open arms. Fabio was skeptical of the family as he was cynical of them. He was the only the member who objected to the Rosenbaums' membership. Fabio, however, was outnumbered by the others. The Rosenabaums were viewed as a crucial asset to their alliance due to their former proximity to one of the High Families. Tristan, Hanna, and Samuel were exactly who the Grand Families needed and wanted on their side. But Fabio feared the Rosenbaums' prior loyalty to the Da Silvas hadn't all diminished.

Hamona asked everyone to take their seats. The tension in the air relaxed just a little. "Let's go ahead and get started." She clapped her hands. Everyone settled into their chairs. "Fabio." Hamona motioned to him.

Fabio revealed to the table that there were whispers around town about their alliance. Thankfully, the identities of the Grand Families were still a secret. He suspected there was a mole among their table but kept the thought to himself. "Please be mindful of what you say when you're about in town." Fabio moved on to the next topic. "I overheard the Van Doren, Cabot, and Grimaldi families talking about wanting to join Wych Elm's secret alliance." Fabio was eager to offer them a seat at the table but want the input from the other six families. "Even if everyone is weary of bringing in more members, we should at least extend an invitation to the Van Doren family." The Van Dorens were a family of accountants. Fabio believed they could be beneficial to the alliance.

The table voted. The Cabot and Grimaldi families were rejected but invitation to the Van Dorens was agreed upon. Enid Sinclair expressed her disapproval. "Two reasons." She raised her pointer finger. "We should keep our table small. Too many members and our identities are bound to get out." No one disagreed with Enid's first point. She raised another finger. "For a second, let's disregard the Ellington, Da Silva, and Lightwood families." The twin Hightower families were the greatest threats and obstacles to the Grand Families compared to the five as a whole. The Hightowers held the most power and influence above the other three. They also had something the other three High Families didn't have: connections and allies more powerful than them.

Fabio leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "You've made two damning points, Enid." Strength in numbers didn't compare against strength in powerful allies.

Angelo and Peter Holloway, whom seldom spoke up at the meetings, agreed with Enid. "I can't even argue against her point." Peter commented.

"We're going to need powerful allies like the Hightowers have if we have any chance at tipping the scales of power in our favor." Cyrus added. He then proceeded to light a cigarette.

"You're absolutely right, Cyrus." Fabio addressed him. "By the way, something crossed my mind just now. It's in reference to Enid's previous statement. The High Families as a unit are a problem, but the Hightowers are the major players that hold the group together." If the Grand Families rid Wych Elm of the Hightowers first, then the other High Families would fall as well.

"We wouldn't even have to waste our time worrying about the other three." Hamona stated enthusiastically. Half the table nodded in agreement.

"That's true, however, the Hightowers are like an impenetrable fortress. Where would we even start drilling cracks in their foundation?" Easton scanned the table. No one said a word. The question had everyone stumped.

Enid's sudden shift in body language caught Jerome's attention. The split change in her facial expression raised his suspicion. Jerome sensed Enid was withholding information from the table. He nudged Hamona with his knee and directed her attention with his eyes. "What's on your mind, Enid?" Hamona rested her chin atop her hands. The jittery woman sneered back at Hamona.

The two women couldn't stand one another. Hamona despised Enid's business which heavily relied on prostitution; it repulsed her greatly. She was always vocal about her disdain for it too, not that Enid or Cyrus gave a damn. The Sinclair siblings never paid Hamona's remarks any mind because she was nothing more than a "privileged rich girl."

Enid and Cyrus didn't have a comfortable or lavish childhood like some of the Grand Families. They were born to a prostitute and spent their early years in poverty. Their fathers, who were more than likely their mother's clients, were unknown. They lived a rough life on the streets of Wych Elm. Distasteful as their business was, they were proud of the way they made their money nonetheless.

As Enid opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted by pounding at the door. Confused and fearful eyes darted around the table. "Did you invite someone else?" Elease asked Hamona. She hadn't.

Samuel snorted. "Maybe it was Fabio." He said in a degrading tone. Their hateful eyes locked on one another. "You're always strutting about acting like you're our leader and what not." Insulted, Fabio slammed his fist down on the table. The action unfazed Samuel.

"I don’t do that, Samuel." The man's name rolled off Fabio's tongue with hate. "There's no leader here among the Grand Families." He reiterated yet again that the Grand Families were all equal, unlike the High Families. Samuel looked at Fabio doubtfully, crossing his arms.

The pounding continued. Jerome volunteered to look. "I'll be damned..." His shoulders dropped. Hamona asked who was at the door. Jerome, grim expression and all, turned around slowly. The light in his eyes had dimmed. "There's Hightowers at the door."

"You have got to be shitting me!" Easton whispered harshly.

The cigarette fell from Cyrus' hand. He was paralyzed by fear. "What are Hightowers doing here?" Someone had sold them out. The Grand Families had been extremely cautious. Either they hadn't been as cautious as they thought, or the High Families were just too good.

Angelo's eyes darted back and forth between Peter to his right and Fabio across from him. “Should we-should we open the door?” He nervously dug his nails into the table, leaving behind faint scratches.

While the table whispered among themselves about what to do, Hamona pushed to her feet, trembling. She swallowed the dread built up in her mouth. The terrified woman lumbered over to the door, inhaled a deep breath, and swung it open to everyone's astonishment. Elias and Art from the Crimsons, as well as Florian and Horatio from the Silvers, stood on their lodge's doorstep.

"It's about damn time someone with sense opened the door." Florian had been one knock away from kicking the door in. He couldn't stand outside with Art another minute. Florian hadn't forgotten what the man and his irritating twin said about him and Solomon during their sit down. Elias didn't bother him, however. Florian regarded him as more of a background character due to his reserved manner. Art was insufferable though.

Art fired back at Florian's remark. "I'd rather have my throat slit open if it meant never having to see your heinous face again." He spat the wettest gob of spit on Florian's expensive shoes. They had been a gift from Solomon. Florian became red with anger.

“You son of a b-”

Hamona’s scowl deepened. “You can stop with your irritating bickering." Florian tried to bum rush his way inside the lodge, but was stopped by the woman. "That wasn't an invitation inside, Florian Hightower." She said, snarling like an animal pissed off. They could speak from the other side of the door.

Hamona Belleweather was utterly terrified on the inside. Never make enemies of the High Families, that's what she had always been told. Even so, there was no place for fear in any capacity from there on forward. She and the other Grand Families were attempting to challenge the High Families. Hamona had to present herself as intimidating and fearless as possible.

 

Art's face soured at Hamona's response.  He pushed Florian aside and pushed against the door, nearly knocking Hamona backwards. Art craned his neck to the side in an almost mechanical-like manner. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” He leaned down into Hamona’s face, their noses almost touching. “Know what I hate more than Florian Hightower’s stupid ass? That’s a disobedient bitch.” Art told Hamona she was fortunate she wasn't his woman because she would have caught a backhand to her mouth for disrespecting him.

Jerome gently pulled Hamona behind him. He then shoved Art backwards. Were it not for Elias, Art would have ended up on his back. "Watch your mouth, Hightower." Jerome's large hands tightened and untightened at this sides. It took every last bit of restraint for him not to strike Art in his jaw; he could have broken the man's jaw with ease. Jerome loathed men who disrespected women. It would never be tolerated, Hightower or not.

Art ran his tongue over his teeth, glaring at Jerome with loathsome eyes. Jerome was a giant compared to him. "Do your worse, big man." Art dared the man. The Jirov farm would have been in ashes before the next sunrise. Florian crossed his fingers, hoping Jerome would lay his nemesis out on the ground. He would give his right kidney to witness it.

Fabio backed up his friends. "You were asked a question." He flanked Jerome from the left. "What do you punks want, especially at this hour?"

"You louses sure are mouthy. Your little club here has you feeling audacious." Florian popped his tongue. He told Fabio they would tell the Grand Families why they were there once they were allowed in. "Now let us in, jackass." Fabio had planned to slam the door right in the Hightowers' faces until Elias stepped up. He barked at Florian and Art to shut up; he and Horatio would handle things.

"I'm not about to stand here in the dark of night bickering. I have more important things to take care." Elias revealed he, Art, Florian, and Horatio were sent there on behalf of the Hightower patriarchs. The Hightowers wanted to offer one of the seven Grand Families membership into the High Families. The selected family would take the Morgensterns' seat.

Fabio, Hamona, and Jerome backed away from the door, flabbergasted. Florian and Art both attempted to enter at the same time, but found themselves jammed in the doorway. "Get out of my fucking way, Art." Florian shoved the man into the door-frame.

Art elbowed Florian in the face. "No. You get out of my way!" The Silver Hightower tripped Art who landed face first in front of Jerome and the rest.

"I can't believe I almost shat myself earlier. The Hightowers would have been better off sending Ishmael than these two clowns." Easton whispered.

Elease struck him upside the head. “Now isn’t the time for your little quips, Easton.” She told her brother to save them until after the Hightower men left.

Art cursed at Florian. As he moved to his feet, his eyes landed on one particular person. "Enid Sinclair... I see you and that dimwit brother of yours are also involved in his little conspiracy." He tsked, wagging his finger. Enid gave him the finger. "I'm flattered but you know how I feel about someone else's sloppy seconds." Cyrus jumped at Art, only to be held back by his sister. She hook her head disapprovingly. It was her way of telling her brother to stand down.

That bastard's probably itching to run home and tell his son of a bitch brother. Enid said internally, cursing him as well. The very last thing Enid wanted was for Alexander of all people to know about her affiliation with the Grand Families. She started to regret accepting their invitation.

Cyrus held his sister's hand. "It's going to be all right, Enid." He whispered tenderly. "Don't mind that asshole." Cyrus told his sister they wouldn't have power over them any longer. That didn't quell the frightened woman's anxieties, however. She didn't fear Art, Florian, or even Ishmael. Hell, not even Solomon scared her. The only person in all of Wych Elm who terrified her was Alexander. The man could be something worse than a monster when angered. Enid had experienced his wrath firsthand; she never wanted to a second time.

"There are stipulations." Horatio emphasized. The Grand Families exchanged anxious glances. "Whoever we choose must agree to sign over 10% share of their business." The Silver Hightower referred to the deal as a membership fee. Chaos and dissent erupted throughout the lodge.

Peter cursed at the men. “You're out of your damn minds. We’re not interested.” Several members voiced their agreements. Elias and Horatio exchanged glances, restraining the urge to snicker. The two Hightower men knew their offer was too good to pass on, even if it sounded like a deal with the Devil. The noise from the Grand Families was all a front. They predicted a visit from some of the Grand Families before the night was over.

"How about this then." Art told the Grand Families they would give them until the end of the week to sleep on their generous offer.

"And what happens if we refuse?" Hamona squinted at the Hightowers. Art and Florian burst into laughter. "It wasn't a joke." She growled.

Art tapped on her nose lightly. "But this little club of yours is." He playfully told Hamona she was cute when she was angry.

She swatted him away. "You can leave now. Your business here is done."

Elias, Horatio, Florian, and Art filed out of the door in a single line. "You all have a safe night. We'll be in touch." Florian told them insincerely. Art's final offense to Hamona was blowing her a kiss. She released a frustrated shriek when the door closed.

"I can't fucking stand them!" She knocked over a chair. Elease came to her comfort, holding Hamona tightly in her arms.

"Take a deep breath, Hamona." Elease told her friend softly. "You're reaction is exactly what they want." That had always been the Hightowers' nature, getting under people's skins, even their own. The villainous family succeeded almost every time.

Fabio lingered by the window, watching the men until their cars disappeared from view. He had to make sure the Hightowers had left. Not that Elias, Florian, Horatio, and Art needed to sneak around and snoop. They had lackeys to lurk and listen for them.

The Grand Families reconvened at the table to discuss the Hightowers' offer. Elease and Jerome still comforted Hamona. The alliance found themselves a table divided. "They're trying to create a rift in our alliance." Hamona voiced her reservations. "No one should take this deal." Elease, Oscar, and Jerome agreed with her. They couldn't let the High Families divide them or Wych Elm would never be free.

"I agree with Hamona wholeheartedly. It's clearly a trap. They could have filled the Morgensterns' seat years ago after they killed them. Why now decades later?" Easton said it was suicide. He wasn't interested.

The Sinclair, Holloway, and Rosenbaum families were in favor of the deal which dismayed Hamona. It came as no surprise to Fabio the Rosenbaums' voiced their interest. His suspicions of the family became more and more justifiable as the days went on.

"Here me out everyone." Cyrus raised his voice just enough to be heard above the commotion. "We should use this opportunity to our advantage." He elaborated further. "We can infiltrate their circle this way. Once we win their trust, we bring back any useful intel to the rest of the alliance, and use it to break apart their circle." The families in favor of the deal supported Cyrus' idea. Even Easton found Cyrus's argument convincing and changed his mind.

"You know what, I actually agree with Cyrus." The words came straight from Fabio's mouth. Hamona was disappointed further. She never thought Fabio, who prided himself on being integrous, would be swayed by the High Families' temptation. "Their offer is a trap, but it may also be the answer to the problem we're trying to solve." Fabio never gambled a day in his life, but he would that evening. "Only one family can have a seat. We should take a vote on who to select." So the voting process would be fair, nominated families couldn't vote for themselves. The Grand Families went around the table and voted on who they wanted in the seat.

Jerome, Hamona, and Fabio opted out of the nomination process. They weren't interested, especially Hamona. Her hatred of the High Families outweighed the vacant seat. The Monte-Sanos twins were divided; Easton wanted to nominate their family while Elease refused. The choice was between the Sinclair, Holloway, and Rosenbaum families. It was up to the rest to cast the deciding vote.

"My vote goes to the Rosenbaums." Fabio announced to everyone's disbelief. How could a man who actively expressed his dislike for a select group of people vote for them? It was baffling.

Tristan, Hanna, and Samuel gawked at Fabio. "Wh-why are you voting for us?" Samuel asked him. The light of the room amplified his green eyes. Tristan asked the man what his deal was.

Fabio leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I mean, why not?" He shrugged nonchalantly. The Rosenbaums were the best candidates in his eyes. "Think about it. Ishmael knows you. Your family is more likely to win the High Families' trust compared to the rest of us." Moved by Fabio's point, Hamona, Jerome, the Holloways, and the Monte-Sanos voted in favor of the Rosenbaums. The decision was unanimous.

But Cyrus wasn't happy about the verdict. It was his idea. The Sinclair family didn't receive even one vote.  He felt slighted by the table. "Wait a fucking minute, Fabio. This was my idea. Enid and I should have been chosen." The younger man fumed over what he thought was disrespect. He would not accept the results of the decision.

Peter scoffed at the man, calling him a crybaby. Cyrus jumped up from his seat, stormed over to the man, and pulled back his fist. "Say that again." He demanded threateningly. Cyrus wasn't above assaulting his ally.

Peter laughed in the man's face without fear. "I mean this with every bit of disrespect, Cyrus. You're the last person anyone would ever choose. Maybe if you weren't around, the Sinclair family would have had a better chance." He followed up his statement by calling Cyrus a hot-headed punk.

"You bit-" Jerome grabbed Cyrus before his fist made contact with Peter's face.

The younger man snapped at Jerome, demanding he let go. "I could, but you would only be proving Peter right." No matter how much Cyrus struggled against the large man's hold, he couldn't break free. "Go sit down, Cyrus." Jerome told the Sinclair man like he was one of his sons.

"Don't act like you're my father!" Cyrus snapped again, trying to pull his wrist free again. He threw curses at Jerome as he did so. The large man was unbothered. Cyrus didn't and couldn't intimidate him.

"Someone needs to." The reply sent Cyrus over the edge. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his switchblade. If Jerome wouldn't let go, he would make him through other means.

Enid rose to her feet. "We're going now, Cyrus." Hamona said they hadn't adjourned yet. "And there will be other meetings." The madam said she needed to get back to her club. It was almost ten. The business day was long over for everyone else, but for the Sinclairs, it was just starting.

"You can let me go now, Jirov." Cyrus scowled at him. Jerome released the man without complaint. Cyrus spat at Jerome's feet; his last act of defiance. He hurried behind Enid as she exited the lodge. Fabio decided it was time to adjourn for the night.

"You're still coming to our Sunday dinner, yes?" Elease asked Hamona with bright eyes. The pregnant woman was helped into the passenger's seat by Jerome. Sunday dinners at the Monte-Sano estate had been a weekly tradition for Hamona since she was twelve. The love, warmth, and laughter that filled her home ceased to exist when the Hightower destroyed her family. Hamona spent the rest of her adolescent and teenager years in and out of the Belnades and Monte-Sano homes to escape the misery and depression that haunted hers. She confirmed she would be there to Elease's delight. "I'll see you Sunday then. I'll make sure mom makes her peach cobbler that you love." Elease wished her friends safe travels home before she and Easton drove off.

Fabio, Hamona, and Jerome remained behind. "You've spent the last month distrustful of the Rosenbaum family and yet, you nominate them for the High Family seat." Hamona demanded to know why that was. She had expected the opposite response from Fabio.

Fabio replied, "To test their loyalty to the Grand Families." His distrust of Samuel, Hanna, and Tristan never subsided; it only intensified. Fabio saw the perfect opportunity to prove his suspicions were not out of simple pettiness.

Jerome shook his head with disappointment; Hamona expelled frustrated groans.  "Oh, Fabio, enough with this! Aren't you're tired?" She called him obsessed. Hamona wondered if Fabio harbored a secret jealousy towards the Rosenbaum family. And for what reason? She couldn't think of one. All she wanted was for Fabio to let it go. Hamona believed people's loyalty could change with the right conditions.

"I have to agree with Hamona, friend." Jerome placed a hand on Fabio's shoulder and squeezed. "It's looking rather pitiful on your part." He told Fabio to have faith.

"I don't want to have faith." Fabio wanted cold, hard proof. If he was wrong about the Rosenbaums, he would apologize and admit he was wrong. Fabio told his friends he would no longer argue about the matter. The situation wasn't about being right or wrong. It was about protecting their alliance. It was about weeding out would-be traitors. It was about staying true to their cause: a Wych Elm free of the High Families.

Enid never liked for anyone, not even her own brother, to see her cry. She would hold back her tears as long as she could until she was alone. After Art saw her, Enid couldn't wait to get out of that lodge. The frightened woman finally released the emotions she held back over the last hour. Cyrus kept quiet. He gave his sister a moment to herself before he spoke.

"We're going to see the Hightowers.” A statement that should have been a question. Enid remained silent. She pondered on her brother's words for a few minutes.

Once Enid made up her mind, her response was a simple, "Yes, we are." Cyrus nodded. He signaled left, driving in the opposite direction of their Red-Light District. They were making an extra stop. The next set of words out of Cyrus' mouth was a question.

Crimson or Silver?