The Girl in the Wych Elm: Part Nine

 

9. No Stars Over Wych Elm

“Arrien…go home…” The stubborn man refused again. The Watchmen were tired of being pestered. Arrien, however, refused to yield. He would get inside Old Cahawba one way or another. “We’re not telling you this again.” He sighed frustratedly. That was Arrien’s final warning. The Watchmen at the estate’s gate had given Arrien too many chances; their patience was gone. They had refused Arrien entry four times. And four times Arrien pushed back, refusing to leave. If the man continued bothering them, the Watchmen would use violence instead of words.

The second Watchman shoved Arrien onto the ground and kicked dirt all over him. “Mayor Hightower doesn’t want to see your stupid ass, especially this late at night.” He told Arrien to go before he put hands on him.

Arrien refused, to their annoyance. “But I need to speak with him urgently.” News of the Rosenbaums’ ascension to the High Families had reached his ears. The last son of the Morgenstern family was livid. He had to know why his family’s rightful seat was given away. And to a lowly family at that. The Rosenbaums’ relationship with the Da Silvas infuriated Arrien the most. That seat was rightfully his. That seat belonged to the Morgenstern family. He wouldn’t leave Old Cahawba until he received an answer.

In truth, Alexander never once promised the ambitious man his membership would be restored. He only hinted at the possibility. Arrien had been too blinded by his personal desire and Alexander’s charm to notice the mayor’s underlying deception.

“Take it up with Mayor Hightower’s receptionist in the morning.” That was final. Arrien would not see Alexander that night.

Arrien, tenacious, got on his feet. He stormed up to the first Watchman with his chest puffed out, trying to act tough. None of the Watchmen were intimidated by the performance. “I am the son of the Morning Star.” He arrogantly told the guard. Arrien spoke down on the men. Though no longer a member of the High Families, Arrien still belonged to one of Wych Elm’s affluent families. “The four of you will always be beneath me, no matter my status.”

The Watchmen laughed and belittled Arrien. “You are truly stupidly audacious as they say.” The second guard struck Arrien in the shin with his retractable nightstick. All four encircled Arrien as he clutched his knee in pain. “Your father knew better than to challenge the High Families and foolishly did it anyways.” The third guard kicked Arrien in the ribs with his steel-toe boot.

“You’re mad at the world for how you ended up when it should be you father.” The second guard spat on Arrien. “The only reason you’re not dead in the street like a feral dog is because the mayor ordered us not to kill you, no matter how much you aggravate us.” Alexander said nothing about roughing him up, however. “Get’em on his feet.” He barked at his associates. The men aggressively snatched Arrien up to his feet.

The first Watchmen pressed his nightstick hard against Arrien’s face. “Final warning, Arrien. Take your dumbass ho-” Arrien kicked the man in the stomach. He then spat in the other guard’s face. “You son of a bitch…” The guard removed his taser and cranked it to the highest voltage. He tased Arrien until the man’s eyes rolled back and he went unresponsive.

“Time to intervene.” Ishmael exhaled. He had watched the exchange between Arrien and the guards from the shadows. While Arrien deserved what he got, the man was Ishmael’s prey to torment and eventually kill. No one else would take that opportunity from him. “Enough before you send him into cardiac arrest.” The faces of the Watchmen soured when the Red Hound appeared. They released Arrien; his limp body dropped to the ground. Ishmael stood over Arrien as he smoked his cigarette. He nudged the man with his boot. “You better not be dead, asshole.” Ishmael flicked the ashes of his cigarette onto Arrien.

“Don’t expect a thank you from me, Ishmael.” Arrien groaned painfully into the dirt.

The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Don’t assume I intervened out of the goodness of my heart.” He replied mockingly. Fortunately for Arrien, he lived to see another sunrise. But there was no telling how many sunrises he had left. “These nice gentlemen have asked you to leave several times. It would be in your best interest to do so.” Ishmael told Arrien to go home and shower. “You smell like piss.” Those were his last words to Arrien for the time being. Ishmael’s last act of disrespect was discarding his cigarette butt on top of Arrien. “If I may.” The Watchmen begrudgingly opened the gate to Old Cahawba for the sheriff. Arrien clawed at the dirt, watching as his enemy passed through the gates, he was denied entry inside.

 

The third level of Old Cahawba was Alexander’s private floor. Access was heavily restricted even to his own family members. Not even the mayor’s own brothers or closest associates were allowed on the floor without prior authorization from him. Ishmael had been everywhere around the Crimson Hightower estate, except Alexander’s suite. He was allowed because Alexander requested him. “You know, I can come back another time, Alexander?” The sheriff came upon the mayor soaking in a hot bath drinking wine. That was part of Alexander’s nightly routine.

Ishmael was motioned to sit in the adjacent armchair. “It’s all right, Ishmael. I’m not bothered if you aren’t.” Alexander’s partial nudity wasn’t a huge issue to Ishmael. He treated the outlandish meeting like he did their usual interactions. “Wine?” Alexander raised the bottle. Ishmael declined the hospitable offer. Of all the alcoholic beverages he had tasted, wine was not his preferred.

“The detective’s dead.” He informed Alexander matter-of-factly. The mayor responded with a nonchalant shrug. Ishmael wasn’t supposed to kill Hollis, technically. That wasn’t his directive. Alexander only wanted the man out of his town.

“Those men are long gone so, there was no need for any more bloodshed.” Hollis’ death mattered little to Alexander anyways. “What’s done is done.” He told Ishmael in a cheerful tone. Alexander was a little curious about Ishmael’s reason for killing Hollis.

Ishmael looked down at his hands, turning them over and back several times. “I didn’t like his energy.” The man didn’t elaborate further on his answer.

Alexander sipped his wine. “Is that so?” He skeptically peered at Ishmael from the corner of his eyes.

The sheriff crossed his legs. “Anyways, you could have called me for a report.” It made little sense to Ishmael for him to come all the way to Old Cahawba.

Alexander waded to the other side of the sunken tub. “Aww… You weren’t interested in seeing me tonight?” He teased Ishmael with a sly smile.

Mortified, the Red Hound stammered to apologize. Alexander’s playfulness often went over Ishmael’s head at times. “I-I didn’t-I didn’t mean it like th-that, Alexander. It’s just… What I meant was… I know how important your personal downtime means to you, so-so I was saying-”

“Heel, Ishmael, heel. I was messing with you.” Alexander splashed the man with bath water. “Stop being so uptight all the time. It’ll kill you.” He wagged his finger. Alexander called Ishmael to Old Cahawba because he wanted his company.

“S-seriously?” Ishmael excitedly replied, wagging his invisible tail. Alexander meant what he said. He told Ishmael life in Wych Elm was about to change, specifically in favor of the Crimson Hightowers. The mayor’s gaze suddenly shifted from the sheriff to the window. What the hell is he staring at? Outside the window was an old Wych Elm tree, nothing else of interest. From Ishmael’s perspective, it appeared Alexander was looking at something he personally couldn’t see. Maybe he’s lost in thought or something.

Alexander informed Ishmael he would set in motion the five-year plan he had been meticulously fleshing out. “Only one…. There can be only one Hightower family.” Ishmael was called to the mayor’s suite for a reason. The Red Hound and his cohorts were essential to Alexander’s scheme. “Solomon is plotting against me. It seems our ‘lover’s quarrel’ has run its course. Things are about to get rather ugly around here.” The irritants that were the Grand Families were no longer of Alexander’s concern. His attention and energy returned to his initial goal: the eradication of the Silver Hightowers.

The Red Hound, on the edge of his seat, salivated like a starving dog. The ecstasy in his eyes shone brightly like the Morning Star before sunrise. “Anything you ask or need of me, I’ll do it without hesitation.” The cunning smile on Alexander’s face pulled tighter. Ishmael’s devotion to him was unbridled.

“Grab me a towel, please.” Alexander requested. Not once did his eyes break away from the window. Ishmael pulled a fresh towel from the warmer and handed it to Alexander. He turned away while Alexander made himself decent.

“What about that jackass, Arrien?” The name left a bitter taste on Ishmael’s tongue. “Has he outlived his usefulness yet?” Ishmael clenched and unclenched his restless hands. They itched for Arrien’s throat, to take his life. He was tired of the idiot moving around Old Cahawba and Wych Elm unrestricted. Let me kill him. Let me kill him. Tell me I can kill him. Ishmael chanted inside his mind. He hoped Alexander would give him the green light.

To the Red Hound’s frustration, Alexander gave no immediate response. The mayor strolled over to the credenza where he kept his record player. The collection of vinyls was another inheritance from his late father. And while Cornelius favored Alexander the most out of his four sons, the two men had very little in common outside their shared love of music. “Ah! Here it is.” Alexander presented the album art to Ishmael. It featured the silhouettes of two samurai against an orange background. “Her name is Minmi. I saw her perform in a nightclub the night I turned eighteen.” Alexander played the record for his guest.

Ishmael, however, wasn’t interested in hearing the song. He wanted an answer. The distraction only increased his annoyance. “She has a beautiful voice.” The sheriff dryly remarked. His taste in music wasn’t the same as Alexander’s. Ishmael enjoyed alternative and hard rock compared to RnB.

“Arrien hasn’t outlived his usefulness…yet” had Ishmael madder than a snake that had been stepped on. Alexander poured another glass of wine. He kept quiet while Ishmael vented his thoughts.

“Arrien is not useful. He’s an obnoxious insect.” One that needed to be crushed. The sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t need him, Alexander. You need me and just me.” That also included the Red Hound’s merry band of thugs. Ishmael demanded to know what Arrien did for Alexander that he as the sheriff of Wych Elm couldn’t. He beseeched the mayor to reconsider. “Arrien is nothing more than a twenty-three-year overdue lose end.” Ishmael didn’t trust the bastard. Arrien was up to something, of that, the Red Hound was certain.

Alexander took a swig of his wine. “Are you done with your tantrum now, Ishmael?” He asked in a condescending, deadpan tone. The Crimson Patriarch merely entertained the tantrum because of his wine. With the glass and entire bottle gone, the mayor was done with the conversation. His decision was final.

Under regular circumstances, Ishmael never dared to question or argue against Alexander’s decisions, even if he disagreed with them. Ishmael was clouded by his jealousy, obsession, and his hatred of Arrien. For the first time in forever, the Red Hound bit back against his master. “I’m sorry, Alexander but this is a foolish decision.” He confessed to the mayor his lack of hesitation to spare Arrien the next time their paths crossed. “You’re the mayor, but I’m the sheriff. I’m the Law.” The silence that followed his words were deafening. Only the ticking of the clock was heard in the background.

The audacious statement awakened a sinister energy within Alexander. He twitched from his right eye down to his hands. Who was Ishmael to pull rank on the mayor of Wych Elm and the patriarch of the Crimson Hightowers? A burning sensation began to creep up inside his chest; Alexander rubbed the area. Ishmael asked if the man was all right. “Just some heartburn.” He winced out. Alexander directed Ishmael’s attention to the prescription bottle behind him on the table.

Like the obedient dog Ishmael was, he hurried and fetched the bottle. But the second the sheriff turned around a wine bottle connected with his face. The strike wasn’t enough to knock the Red Hound down or out. It only left Ishmael bleeding and disoriented.

“It appears you’ve almost forgotten your place, my dear hound.” Alexander tapped the bottle against his palm. “You may be the law, Ishmael but your position inside this town will forever be under me. No one is above me.” Not Ishmael. Not Solomon. No one. Alexander continued to assault Ishmael until the wine glass broke under his strength. The sheriff of Wych Elm laid in a puddle of his blood, barely conscious. “Remember who helped elevate your position, Ishmael? Who gave your life a purpose?” He disrespectfully thumped the sheriff’s badge. “You were nothing to Ezra other than a disgusting reminder of his father. Now, you’re the sheriff of Wych Elm and head of one of the most powerful families in this region.” Which only happened due to Alexander’s involvement. The mayor leaned into Ishmael’s face. “Answer me this. Where is Ezra now? Fertilizer.” He whispered harshly into the sheriff’s ear. Ishmael would find himself next to his father if he challenged Alexander’s authority a second time.

“I’m…I’m sorry…Alexander…” Ishmael deserved the punishment at least, in his own eyes. He had momentarily allowed his position as sheriff to cloud his judgement. It was all for Alexander. Everything the Red Hound did was all for Alexander.

The physical pain Ishmael felt in that moment was nothing more than a needle prick compared to the turbulent, emotional, and psychological abuse he experienced as a child. He was racked with sadness, anger, pain, hatred, and resentment towards his deceased father whose violent death never brought Ishmael satisfaction.

Poor Ishmael was the unfortunate result of a predatory, sexual arrangement. The woman who became his mother was the neglected wife of a businessman more affluential than the five High Families combined. Ezra, who had recently turned nineteen and already engaged, found himself the object of the woman’s unwanted sexual desire. The teenager had no choice in the matter. He was pimped out by his own father under threat of violence. Ishmael was born four months before his brother Aureliano. He was neither wanted by Ezra nor his mother.

Regardless, custody of the baby fell on the Da Silvas. Ishmael became a frustrating reminder of Ezra’s trauma. He was never allowed to call Ezra “father” or “dad.” The man could care less about what happened to Ishmael. His care and upbringing were managed by nannies who were ordered to isolate Ishmael from Ezra, his wife, and Aureliano. The poor child didn’t get his name until he turned two. Watching Ezra shower Aureliano with love and kindness over the years while he was treated worse than a street dog impacted the trajectory of Ishmael’s life.

“Please…don’t throw me…away…” Ishmael weakly pleaded to Alexander. It was a mortifying sight watching the sheriff of Wych Elm whine and beg like a disappointed toddler. “It won’t…happen…again…” He promised Alexander he would leave Arrien alone at his request. Ishmael would do whatever Alexander asked of him from that moment forward. The Red Hound had been discarded by his father, his mother, his brother, and his family. That was the man’s greatest fear: falling out of favor with Alexander. The only person who saw value in him. “I’m-I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Alexander kneeled beside Ishmael; he caressed the beaten man’s face. The burning sensation in his chest intensified. He ignored the discomfort, but the longer Alexander held off on the medication, the worse the sensation and discomfort became. “You don’t have to worry, Ishmael.” Alexander gave the sheriff his word. No one would replace him. “Your loyalty to me is undying.” The mayor knew he could never find another person as devoted to him as Ishmael was. The Red Hound was his greatest asset and most trusted right-hand.

Ishmael gave a weak smile before he fell unconscious. The beating he suffered took its toll. Alexander continued stroking Ishmael’s bloody face as the burning sensation in his chest worsened. “There’s nothing to worry about…” The Hightower winced out.

For no one was as loyal a hound to Alexander than Ishmael.

 

 

 

Stella Morgenstern kneeled quietly before the memorial altar, gazing into the eyes of her long-deceased parents and relatives. “I’m sorry mommy, daddy.” She bit back the tears forming in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry. You sacrificed everything to get us out of here, and this is how we’ve repaid you.” Stella couldn’t blame her parents if they turned in their graves. They spat on their parents’ graves when they returned to Wych Elm. The distraught woman wept. “We’re horrible children. We’ve failed and disappointed you.” Her parents’ disappointment loomed over her shoulders like a dark cloud. As the last daughter of the excommunicated and disgraced house of Morgenstern, the guilt tormented Stella like a nightmare.

After what was done to her family, Stella should have stayed away from Wych Elm. Her biggest regret was also her greatest sin. Wych Elm was nothing more than a cage. Stella’s life inside that cage was one of endless misery. After a while, she began to view her life inside the town as a punishment. She had defiled her parents’ sacrifice. However, in Stella’s defense, it was all Arrien’s fault. The only crime Stella was guilty of was trying to protect her foolish, younger twin brother.

Unlike Stella, Arrien held animosity towards his parents. “They should have never gone against the High Families” he often told his sister. “That seat is our birthright. We shouldn’t have to pay for the sins of our parents. We were children.” Arrien returned to Wych Elm hoping to right his family’s past wrong; he sold his services to Alexander Hightower.

Stella punched a hole in the wall above the altar. She was consumed with rage. Alexander had crossed her naïve brother like she told Arrien he would. “Arrien has always been the stubborn one. He wouldn’t listen to me.” She told her parents and relatives. The Morgensterns’ seat belonged to the Rosenbaums. “Just another Icarus who flew too close to the sun.”

Stella’s resentment of Arrien finally surpassed her love for him. Seven years of their life wasted all because of a fool’s dream. Arrien destroyed Stella’s life because he had been so abosrbed with his own selfish desire to care about his sister’s feelings. “You can always leave. I didn’t beg you to come with me.” Arrien told her many times previously. And as much as Stella desired to leave, she was unable to. She was stuck in Wych Elm, and it wasn’t because of Arrien either. Stella couldn’t leave behind her beloved daughter, Vivianne.

Seven years prior, Vivianne was fathered by a childhood friend of Stella’s, though she kept her pregnancy a secret from him due to safety reasons. Vivianne’s biological father was still unaware of her existence, far as Stella knew. The woman feared how her ex-lover would react if he knew their daughter was in the custody of the Silver Hightower family. “You’ll both burn in Hell, Dante, Horatio.” She cursed the men who stole her daughter from her. “Fuck you both!” She shrieked. Stella gripped the table tightly, holding back the urge to flip her family’s altar. “And you, Arrien… You’ll be burning in Hell right alongside them.” She heavily breathed in and out. Arrien was the reason Dante and Horatio took Vivianne.

The poor woman was faced with an agonizing decision: her daughter or her brother. She deeply regretted not letting the men kill her Arrien

“I know you two would have spoiled her rotten.” Stella told her parents. “She was the sweetest baby. She was…my baby.” Stella laid her head across the table. The heartbroken woman hoped time would help her forget about Vivi. She tried to gaslight herself into believing she made the right decision. Arrien and Stella had nothing to their names. They lived impoverished on the outskirts of Wych Elm, surviving off the paltry change Alexander threw her brother’s way. Vivianne would have lived a miserable existence just like Stella.

As a daughter of the Silver Hightowers, Vivianne had everything she would ever need. She received the most prestigious education, healthcare, and opportunities Stella and Arrien never had outside of Wych Elm. Most of all, Vivianne was showered with abundant love by her adoptive parents, Dante and Beatrice, who couldn’t have their own children. Knowing Vivi was well taken care of gave Stella some consolation. Still, the sullen mother longed for her child. So long as Vivianne remained in Wych Elm, Stella did as well.

“…Stella?” Consumed by her thoughts, Stella hadn’t heard Lyra calling her name. “I’m sorry to bother you while you’re having time with your parents.” Lyra informed Stella she had guests.

Stella gawked at the woman. “Wha-what are you talking about?” As Lyra described the men’s appearance to Stella, a look of terror appeared in her eyes. “Ah…okay then. Thank you for telling me. Wh-where are they right now?” Stella asked Lyra to go back upstairs while she spoke with her guests. Lyra went without question or argument.

Stella wiped her tears and mustered up a courageous face. She took several breaths in and out to remain calm. Once she was ready, Stella made her way from the back of the house to the living room up front. She found three men reclining comfortably on their sofa and chairs. Horatio was the face Stella immediately recognized, though she was unfamiliar with the other two who came with him. Stay calm. Stay calm. Stella chanted. She wished she had a gun; she would have killed Horatio where he sat.

“Where’s Dante?” She asked without pleasantries. Stella looked around as if she expected the man to make a sudden appearance.

Horatio casually slang his arm behind the chair. “Dante’s busy with actual important matters.” He regretfully informed Stella the man wouldn’t be in attendance. “I’ll make sure to tell him you asked about him.” He clicked his teeth and pointed.

Stella cut her eyes. “What do you want, Horatio?” The two men with Horatio smirked at each other which made Stella uneasy.

“We’re making a house call.” The man closest to Horatio answered. He had a square face, broad nose, and mischievous eyes. Stella ignored him. Her eyes remained focused on Horatio. The two lackeys weren’t of interest to her; they were low-born members of the Silvers. She figured no one else of real importance was available.

Highborn members of the twin families such as Horatio, Dante, Theo, Art and so on, were recognized by the brooch sigils they wore. Pinned to Horatio’s lapel was a soaring, silver eagle while for the Crimson Hightowers it was a rearing, golden lion.

“Thanks for dropping in but you all can-” She was interrupted by Horatio.

“We’re not done here yet, Stella.” Horatio leaned forward. He stared menacingly into the woman’s eyes. “Have a seat. Let’s enjoy each other’s company for a while.”

Anger replaced Stella’s fear. She clenched the skirt of her dress. No one, not even a Hightower, would bully Stella inside her own home. She coldly replied, “I’m fine where I am.” The thick-browed man jumped to his feet.

“It’s fine, Leonard.” Horatio raised his hand. “We’ll proceed as is.” The man sat back down. “I have something for you, Stella.” Horatio sang cheerfully. Stella had a dreadful feeling in her stomach. The air in the room became heavier. Horatio, smirking, pulled out a decorative box. It was teal, the signature color of the Silver Hightowers. He recklessly tossed the object onto the coffee table. “Open it, Stella.” He demanded with authority. Stella noticed the darkness in his eyes.

“Wh-what’s inside that box.” She asked trepidatiously. Horatio shrugged off the question. Stella had two hands and two eyes; she could open and look for herself. “No… No, I’m not opening it. I’m not playing into your little intimidation game, Horatio.” Stella demanded they get out of her house.

Horatio sank down into the chair and crossed his legs. “You don’t have a choice…not anymore, at least.” The man reminded Stella of the rules of Wych Elm. “The second you stepped foot back in Wych Elm again, you left yourself at the mercy of the High Families.” Horatio told Stella she would open the box, or they would force her. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” He threatened, glaring ominously at her.

Stella shuffled over to the coffee table and hesitantly grabbed the box. Her hands trembled uncontrollably. Horatio watched her with an empty stare. Leonard and his companion continued smirking. Stella unwrapped the present; the ribbon fell delicately onto the floor. She paused for a brief moment. The anxious woman feared something horrendous awaited her inside the box. She looked over at Horatio who only motioned for her to continue.

When Stella removed the lid, she released a blood curdling shriek. Staring back at her were a pair of human eyeballs. She began retching violently. Despite the macabre sight, Stella carefully sat the eyeballs back on the table. “Who-whose eyeballs are those?” She gagged in between her questions. “Why…Why? Why would you-?”

Horatio interrupted her again. “It’s a shame too. Vivianne really adored Gemma. Too bad she turned out to be a fucking snake.” Stella covered her mouth in disbelief. She refused to believe what Horatio said. Gemma. Those eyes belonged to Gemma. “Imagine how we felt, telling Vivianne her beloved nanny ‘won’t be coming back.’” Horatio rose to his feet. He stalked around Stella, like an eagle circling in the sky. Stella noticed tears in his eyes. “I love that little girl more than I love being a Hightower. I would move Heaven and Earth to raise Hell for her, Dante, and Beatrice.” Horatio stopped moving. He leaned into Stella’s space. “This is your fault, Stella.”

Without warning, Stella struck Horatio. He raised his hand to Leonard and Raymond. They weren’t to intervene. “Don’t you dare put her death on me, Horatio.” She bared her teeth at the man. Horatio wasn’t moved. “You did that to Gemma, not me.” She pointed at the eyeballs. “You’re a disgusting, monster, Horatio. You, Dante, them, everyone in that goddamn family of yours.” Stella shrieked erratically in his face. “I didn’t break Vivi’s heart; it was you.” Terrified as she was of Horatio and the Hightowers, Stella stood her ground. The burden of Gemma’s death wasn’t hers to carry. She wouldn’t let that fall on her conscious.

Horatio gazed into Stella’s angry eyes. She saw the pain in his eyes. She saw the numbness too. The love Horatio had for Vivianne was intense. “I don’t ever want to hurt Vivi in that manner again.” He remorsefully told Stella. Horatio gave her one warning: stay away from Vivianne. “You made your decision Stella, and you need to live with it.”

“Vivianne is still my daughter, Horatio!” Stella argued.

“No!” Horatio’s deep voice echoed throughout the house. “Vivianne is Dante and Beatrice’s daughter. She is a daughter of Hightower.” That last sentence almost sent her spiraling. Horatio reminded Stella that she chose Arrien’s worthless life over Vivianne’s. “You’re foolish just like Arrien, just like your parents.” His tone was riddled with disgust.

Stella spat in the man’s face. “Fuck you…Horatio…” She then smiled at him smugly. “You Hightowers-all of you-think you’re untouchable. You are.” Stella stood tall. She and Horatio were locked in a hostile stare-down. “Every tower eventually burns down.” Their time was nearly up, she proclaimed. “All of you are going to burn like the night my family’s estate was torched.” She promised that every evil act committed by the Hightowers and High Families would come back to destroy them. “Maybe I’ll get the chance to witness it.”

Horatio laughed manically in Stella’s face to her annoyance. “Know this then, Stella.” He leaned into her ear and whispered. “Should the tower burn down, there will be no more stars over Wych Elm.” Horatio summoned his men. “We’re headed home now.” Their visit was over.

Stella crouched down in front of the table. She forced herself to look at Gemma’s eyes. Her body shivered; she held back the vomit threatening to escape. “Did she suffer?” Stella asked Horatio without meeting his gaze.

Horatio remorsefully answered, “No. No she didn’t.” His answer brought Stella some relief. “I made sure her death was painless and swift out of respect for Vivi.” Horatio opened the door. He let Raymond and Leonard exit first. The Hightower expelled a deep sigh. “Have a good night, Stella.”

 

Lyra waited patiently and quietly on the other side of the wall as Stella wept hysterically on the floor. She heard every word of the conversation between Stella and Horatio. She reckoned that was why Stella had her go upstairs. It was to spare Lyra from the appalling reality of the twins’ lives. My grandparents were right about this town. It’s truly full of wicked people. The stories she heard about Wych Elm growing up weren’t mere exaggerations.

Lyra had no immediate ties to Wych Elm, unlike Stella and Arrien. She had never stepped foot inside the town until seven years prior when the siblings made their return. Lyra was a distant relative of the twins. She hailed from the Morgenstein family, a long-exiled branch of the Wych Elm Morgensterns. For simplicity’s sake, Lyra was their “cousin.”

Lyra’s family was nothing like their affluent counterparts. For about eighty-something years, they lived humble, blue-and-white collar lives. They wanted no part in the politics and power struggles of Wych Elm. They went so far as to alter their surname to distance themselves from the infamy that preceded the Morgenstern family. Before the Morgensterns were all killed, contact between the two families was non-existent. Regardless of their tumultuous past, Lyra’s parents took in Stella and Arrien at the request of their parents. The High Families would have punished the children for their family’s sin. An example to those who sought to challenge their authority.

“Stella… May-may I come in the living room?” Lyra politely asked. She was gentle, kind, and soft-spoken. A person like Lyra didn’t belong in a cold environment like Wych Elm. “I heard everything.” She revealed to Stella’s dismay. The walls and floors of their rickety house were thin like paper. “Do you want some company?” Lyra happily offered her shoulder for Stella to cry on.

“Yes, please.” Stella placed the lid back on the box. Lyra didn’t need to see a traumatizing sight. The woman was committed to protecting her cousin’s innocence as long as she could. Although Stella feared she could no longer do so. 

Lyra plopped down beside Stella on the floor. She took the crying woman’s hands into her own. “I see now why my grandmother was against me coming here with you two.” Stella and Lyra burst into laughter. Against her family’s wishes (and the twins), Lyra accompanied the duo back to their hometown.

“She was always about to stroke out over every little thing.” Stella commented. “How is Miss Poppy doing nowadays?”

“Same as always: neurotic. She told me the other day on the phone she won’t die until I’m out of this place.” Lyra’s grandmother was ninety-one. Stella knew the woman didn’t have long.

Stella caressed Lyra’s cheek. “Lyra, maybe it’s time for you to head home. A beautiful flower shouldn’t have to bloom in a wild, gloomy place like this.”

Lyra, however, disagreed. “I believe the prettiest flowers can sometimes flourish in the wildest places.” She wouldn’t leave Wych Elm without the twins. An only child prior to their adoption by her parents, Arrien and Stella were more siblings to Lyra than they were distant relatives. The thought of returning home without the twins bothered Lyra.

Her resolve to stay annoyed Stella greatly but she knew she couldn’t force the woman to leave. “Until I find a way to get Vivianne back, I’m never leaving this insufferable place.” Lyra had already wasted seven years of her life in Wych Elm. Stella didn’t want her to waste another seven.

Lyra laid her head upon Stella’s shoulder. “I’m content where I am as long as I’m with you and Arrien.” She said with a bright smile. Lyra’s answer only worried Stella more. Wych Elm possessed a corruptive influence. The longer Lyra remained in the town, the more susceptible she became to its dark energy.

“I just thought about something Lyra.” Stella owed the woman an apology. She lied to Lyra about Vivianne, telling her the child was stillborn when in reality, she gave her baby up to save Arrien. “I just wanted to shield you from the horrible realities of this place.” Stella didn’t expect forgiveness from Lyra.

However, to her shock, Lyra forgave her for the lie. “You don’t need to apologize to me, Stella. I’m sure the guilt you carry over giving up your child is worser than lying to me.” The support, comfort, and conversations were the only positives about having Lyra in Wych Elm. Had it been only her and Arrien, Stella would have lost her mind a long time ago.

Arrien barged through the door, fuming. He was covered from head to toe in dried blood and dirt. Lyra immediately jumped up and was at his side. “Don’t worry about me. I’m all right.” Arrien smiled. It wasn’t enough to fool Lyra. She chastised him.

“You’re not all right, dummy. I’ll be right back.” Lyra told Arrien she would grab the First Aid kit. It was stashed away upstairs somewhere.

As he waited for Lyra’s return, Arrien hobbled into the kitchen and pillaged the cabinets until he found the half empty bottle of Brandy. He thumped away the cap and chugged several swigs of the brown liquid. “Oh God…!” He cradled the near empty bottle like it was a child. “I’ve been looking forward to you all day.” Arrien slid down in the chair, threw back his head, and closed his eyes.

Stella watched her brother from the doorway. Her eyes were sunken and swollen from crying. Arrien’s nonchalant entrance and demeanor irritated her. Feeling the burning stare of his twin sister’s eyes, Arrien told Stella to speak plainly. “And what did you learn from this?” The man expelled a loud, annoyed groan.

“Stella, please.” He raised his hand, attempting to silence his older sister.

Stella became furious. She stomped over to Arrien and knocked the bottle to the floor, spilling the dark liquid everywhere. Arrien shoved her away. “Fucking hell, Stella! Why would you-?”

“What did I fucking tell you, Arrien?” Stella wouldn’t let him get a syllable out. “You incorrigible dumbass.” She flicked his nose. “I told you- I told you nothing good would come of this. Alexander played you like the stupid ass fool you are.” She slapped her hand. Stella would rather stomach another hour with Horatio than another minute with her brother. “Do you remember what daddy used to tell us as kids? ‘Better to trust the Devil himself than a man of Hightower.’” Those words had been drilled relentlessly into Stella’s head from the day she became conscious of her existence. There was no such thing as a good Hightower.

Arrien rubbed the back of his head where a knot began to form. “I never once trusted, Alexander.” Arrien clarified his sister had always been wrong about that. “I know-I knew he could never be trusted.” Arrien’s plan from the beginning was to buy Alexander’s favor with his loyalty. “We’re Morgensterns. We belong at the table with the rest of the High Families.” He pointed. “We were meant to live a life of luxury and ease, not slaving away at some blue collar or white-collar job. You may be content with living that life Stella but not me.” Arrien desperately missed the life he had in Wych Elm before he was sent away. He wouldn’t rest until his family’s position was restored, even if it killed him.

“All you are Arrien is an ungrateful child that refuses to grow up.” Stella was offended and insulted. Lyra’s family took her and her brother in when they didn’t have to. They showered the twins with love as they did Lyra. Not once were they mistreated or left to fend for themselves. While their life outside of Wych Elm was unremarkable compared to the life they once had, Stella understood how fortunate they had been all those years. Arrien wasn’t interested in hearing none of that. He told Stella to leave him alone because he wasn’t in the mood to argue with her. He had a rough evening.

Stella’s fists clenched tightly. “You had a rough night?” She expelled a short, mocking laugh. “Mine was so much worse than yours.” Stella revealed Gemma’s murder to Arrien. His response incited her to slash out. “Are you serious right now, Arrien?” A veil of red was all Stella saw. Arrien asked who Gemma was. He had forgotten all about her and their prior relationship. “How could you even fix your mouth to ask me that? Gemma was our nanny when we were children. She helped raise us.” Years later, Gemma helped raise Stella’s very own daughter while employed with the Silver Hightowers. As each second passed, Stella became angrier. Before her unfortunate demise, Gemma was the last connection Stella had to her deceased family.

Arrien dismissed his sister’s emotions. “That was so long ago, Stella. You expect me to remember the names and faces of everyone who worked for our family?”

“No, but I expect you to at least remember who Gemma was. She wasn’t a nobody.” Stella wept hysterically which made Arrien uncomfortable; he stood there and watched Stella like an awkward bird. “They… They c-cut out her eyes!” Arrien’s horrified eyes widened. The weight of Gemma’s murder crushed Stella like a boulder.

“Wh-why did they do th-that?” It was a message and a warning to Stella.

For seven years, Gemma kept Stella in the loop about Vivianne’s life among the Silver Hightowers. She wrote letters, sent pictures, and even managed to send Stella some of Vivi’s possessions to have. Some of her baby clothes, strands of hair, a baby doll she no longer played with, artwork, and so on. Those items were the closest Stella ever felt to her daughter. Gemma knew what she did was risky, but it was  all out of love for Stella. The poor woman lamented over the fact she would never get the chance to repay Gemma for her brave and kind act.

Arrien shifted to his right side. His sister was an emotional wreck over Gemma. Arrien felt bad for his sister; he never liked seeing her so broken and hurt. However, Arrien couldn’t help but feel like Stella blamed him indirectly for Gemma’s death. “It’s unfortunate what happened to her.” In the end, Gemma’s brutal death was her own fault. That’s what Arrien audaciously told Stella.

The red veil over Stella’s eyes darkened even more. The anger she fought to suppress exploded. “You’re such a heartless bastard, Arrien. How can you of all people stand there and say that?” Stella reminded Arrien that what he did seven years ago was no different than what Gemma did. Except, Arrien’s life was spared thanks to Stella’s sacrifice. Gemma had no one to save her.

Arrien was tired of Stella throwing the situation back in his face. “Should have let them kill me then.” He shrugged unapologetically.

“Yes… I should have…” Stella wouldn’t make the same mistake a second time.

Lyra heard the heated argument from the stairs. She clutched the First Aid kit tighter to her chest. I wish we could go back to those peaceful days. This town and its people are tearing us apart. The rift in the family grew wider. Lyra had reached her breaking point with Stella’s and Arrien’s fights. Even though she desired to stay with them, she contemplated on whether it was wise for her to leave Wych Elm as advised by Stella.

“I think it’s best I sleep somewhere else tonight.” Lyra overheard Arrien say to Stella. She hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

“Let me clean you up first-”

Arrien kindly dismissed Lyra. “Don’t worry about it, Lyra. I’ll be all right.” He pinched her cheek gently. “I’ll see you later.” He told her sweetly. Arrien looked over at Stella with a sour expression. “Good night.” He coldly told his twin. Lyra pleaded with Arrien to stay but he ignored her.

“The Red Hound’s gonna put you in the ground if you keep sleeping around with Priscilla.” Priscilla was Ishmael’s lover. She was neither wife nor girlfriend, just a warm body for his pleasure when the Red Hound needed it. Priscilla, in turn, didn’t care about not being loved by Ishmael. She used him to her benefit as Ishmael did with her. The nature of their sexual relationship was strictly transactional.

“Why do you even care?” Arrien snorted. “You just told me you wished Horatio and Dante had killed me. It shouldn’t matter if the Red Hound does.” Arrien bumped Stella with his shoulder on his way to the front door.

It was only Lyra and Stella.

“Well… What should we have for dinner tonight?” Lyra sat the First Aid kit down on the counter. “I should clean up this glass and liquid first…” She looked down at the floor. “Do you have a taste for anything in particular, Stella?”

Stella didn’t have an appetite. “I’m good tonight.” Lyra was disappointed. She longed for the moments when they had meals together. Lyra felt a sense of normalcy, even if only for an hour. They hadn’t sat down and eaten together in months. Stella wished Lyra a good night. She left her cousin in the kitchen, grabbed Gemma’s eyes and returned to the room where her memorial altar was.

Stella kneeled before the altar, holding the box with Gemma’s eyes in the palms of her hands. Her tears stained the box, turning it darker in certain spots. “Thank you so much, Gemma…” Speaking the dead woman’s name felt like swords to her heart. “I appreciate everything you did for me. I-I… I’m so sorry…” Stella wept hysterically again for the third time. She nearly dropped the box on the floor. In the end, the burden of Gemma’s death fell on Stella’s shoulders like Horatio had said. “Why?” The enraged woman shrieked at her parents’ photo. “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” Stella’s left fist struck against the floor. “Why did you do what you did? Why did you have to turn against the High Families?” The most painful part about her question was the fact Stella would never get an answer from her parents.

The Morgenstern family had everything they could buy or want but lost it all in their attempted coup. Stella was certain her parents had good reason. The High Families should have been equal to one another, a perfect circle. No family should have been above another. That wasn’t the case, however. There was a hierarchy even among the High Families. The ones who sat at the top were the twin Hightower families. She suspected her parents, and family had grown tired of being treated less than by the Hightowers.

“I despise them too, but the effort wasn’t worth the gamble. Even if we were miserable under them, we still would have been better off than others.” Stella went from apologizing to her parents earlier to cursing them for their foolish pride.

Stella, with trembling hands, placed the box with Gemma’s eyes on her family’s memorial altar. “This table isn’t big enough anymore.” She said with a tired sigh.

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Author's Note: I apologize for the late update with this series. I recently finished my Clinical Research program; the assignments consumed a lot of my personal time. Unfortunately, I'm taking a hiatus from this story for a while. I do this so I can, 1) work on other stories in my archive and, 2) keep my writing fresh. You know how they say, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" This is true (for me) in regard to my writing. I feel like alternating between stories keeps my writing fresh. To me, working on the same story for so long gets kind of boring and I feel like my writing suffers a lot. 

When I come back after a period of time, I feel more inspired and motivated to write. Funny enough, I'm actually halfway done with this story series. The chapters I'm uploading to here were already written. I'm just going back and proofreading, adding/expanding on things, removing things, etc. Anyways, think you so much for your patience. I will try to work on the next chapter while simultaneously working on my other series. 

Also, excuse the format changes. The stories are originally typed in Microsoft Doc and then transferred over to Blogger. I've been trying to figure out how to change the format so that the writing flows more smoothly. Still working on it.