The Girl in the Wych Elm (XVI)

 

XVI. Sins of the King. Grief of the Father. 

The day of Apollo Hightower’s funeral had arrived. A somber air had settled upon the estate. So heavy it felt like treading through sludge. The service was in the next hour, but Solomon was at Josie’s mausoleum instead of getting ready. The black blazer was draped over his arm. The white shirt he wore was untucked and partly buttoned. Puffiness from all the crying he had done the night before had settled heavy on his face. Solomon was the epitome of a broken man shattered by yet another tragedy. A father crippled by unbearable grief over the horrific loss of his only child. He groveled before Josie’s statue, pleading for forgiveness over Apollo’s gruesome death. Shortly before Josie’s own death, she told her husband to make sure their son was always cared for. 

As he reflected on the conversation from the past, Solomon wondered if Josie said those words because she had sensed her own demise around the corner. Nevertheless, he gave his wife his word before kissing her goodbye. “I love you, Josie, and I’ll see you later” were the widower’s last words as he watched her car pull out of the driveway. However, when later arrived, Josie was gone. Now…their son was dead too. The promise to Josie was more broken as he was. Solomon imagined the fury on Josie’s face over the premature arrival of her son into the Heavens. The most devastating part about Apollo’s passing was the bitter terms they parted on hours before. A foul exchange of heartless words meant to cut deep into the soul. Emotional pain so permanent that no number of apologies would ever heal. No matter how many regrets Solomon or Apollo (if he were alive) felt over what they said to one another. Solomon’s only prayer was Josie not rising from her grave as a vengeful revenant that would torment him into madness. One ghost was already too much for him to handle. 

“I don’t understand how this happened. Josie… I’m-I’m so incredibly sorry… This wasn’t… This should have never happened…” Solomon feared his apologies had fallen deaf on Josie’s ear. That was if she had been listening from the start. The sorrowful father cradled Benjy close to his heart. The last remnant of his son which Solomon knew he didn’t deserve. The cherished turtle should have been buried with Apollo, its rightful owner, but Solomon couldn’t bear to part with it. Benjy wasn’t just a piece of his son, but a piece of his wife who had made it for Apollo out of love. “I know I’m being selfish right now thinking of myself, Josie, and I won’t apologize for it.” He moved into a squatting position, choking out tears. A light rain trickled down. Solomon wasn’t bothered by it; he didn’t move from his place in front of the mausoleum. 

Dorian, leaned against a column, watched the painful scene from the breezeway as his brother mourned the loss of his son before his wife’s grave. The younger brother was in distress. He wanted to console Solomon, be his shoulder to cry on, but didn’t have the words. What words could Dorian truly say? Were they the wrong words, Solomon would have shut him out of his life for good, and that was the last thing Dorian wanted to happen. So, he remained at a distance but close enough if needed by Solomon. A wise decision in its own right.

Out of the shadows from behind, Christian appeared with an update. “It’s about time we start making our way to the High Gardens.” He looked down at his watch. Dorian heard the painful strain in the man’s voice. He surmised Christian was picturing himself in Solomon’s place with Rosalind and Vivianne, wondering how he would go on in life without them. 

“Apollo might not have been my favorite nephew, but I hate he won’t have a viewing before burial. I would have loved to see his face one last time.” Christian couldn’t help but chuckle at the statement. Of course, Dorian would find a way to crack a joke in the middle of a tragedy. He was glad the man did though. A little laughter was needed.

“Dorian, Apollo was your only nephew.” Christian replied with a smile, though it lacked warmth. 

“Despite their rocky relationship, I’m certain Apollo was above me in Solomon’s ‘Family Dearest to Me list.’” The two shared a laugh. It was an odd experience because Christian couldn’t recall a moment where he and Dorian ever joked together. The pair normally bumped heads with Horatio acting as the mediator. Sadly, their smiles and laughter didn’t last for long. 

Christian moved from behind Dorian to his side. There was a haunted look in his dark eyes. “Was it really that bad, Dorian?” He swallowed the lump in his throat. Dorian answered with a nod. The heavy statue, from its height, mutilated Apollo when it fell on top of him. The gruesome image had Christian retching. Thinking about the state Solomon had to see his son in had his stomach in painful knots. The fact that Apollo’s smashed in, disfigured face would be etched into his father’s mind for the rest of his days nearly made Christian hysterical. Everything in his body, including his soul, ached for Solomon. No parent should have seen their child in such a grotesque condition.

“Christian, Dorian.” Horatio called softly as he approached from the right side, turning the duo into a trio. His necktie was untied and rippled in the breeze. His white shirt was a little wrinkled and untucked like Solomon’s was. Exhaustion was plastered all over his face in the forms of heavy, black bags under his eyes and hard lines that seemed to age him a few years. Christian beckoned him closer with his hands, tying the necktie for him. Horatio was grateful; he always struggled getting it just right. And given the day’s circumstances, looking disheveled was not what he wanted. “I appreciate it…Christian…” Dorian inquired about Claude’s wellbeing. “Not well…” Claude was in turmoil, spiraling too. Horatio told them his brother hadn’t slept since witnessing Apollo’s death, haunted by the scene on repeat every time he closed his eyes. The boy’s unfortunate death had corrupted him. He didn’t believe Claude would ever be the same and that troubled him. 

Dorian reached over and rubbed Horatio’s shoulder. “It was a freak accident. He doesn’t need to beat himself down over Apollo’s death. It was unfortunate…” Dorian trailed off. He dropped his head. 

Horatio swayed in place looking down at his feet with shoulders slumped forward. “Yeah… I know…” Unfortunately, Claude would carry the burden of Apollo’s death on his shoulders for the rest of his life. It didn’t matter what anyone said to him. 

“Nothing good has happened since the day you left this world. Since the day you left me.” Solomon pressed his forehead against the statue and closed his eyes. “I miss you terribly, Josie. You were my everything. My peace. My good sense. My muse. My universe.” He kissed the statue, telling the object he loved her as if she were the real Josie. Solomon then looked down at Benjy with sorrowful eyes overflowing with tears of pain. He hugged the stuffed turtle one last time before placing it in the statue’s lap. The man finished buttoning his shirt, tucked it in, and donned his blazer. He then sauntered over to where the three men stood waiting for him. 

Christian and Dorian both greeted the gloomy man with gentle shoulder pats. “Here you are, Solomon.” Christian handed him a kerchief for his face. Solomon accepted the cloth, thanked Christian, but held off on wiping his face for the moment. “The motorcade to the cemetery is ready to leave.” Solomon gave no verbal response; he simply nodded. 

The quartet ventured back into the manse, passing through to the front of the estate to join the waiting funeral party. On the way they crossed paths with Joaquin, Gerald, and a disheveled Claude loitering in the foyer; there was one other man and two women with them as well. When Claude spied Solomon, his hollow eyes immediately dropped to the floor out of shame. The pungent smell of liquor became stronger as Solomon and his group drew closer to Claude and his group. Horatio excused himself to deal with his brother. “Claude!” Horatio called his name in a harsh whisper. “Go back to your suite.” The polite redirection was met with resistance. 

Claude was adamant about attending the funeral with the rest of the family. “After the awful things I said to the kid before he died Horatio, the least I can do is pay my respects.” He sniffled, rubbing his nose. It was red and raw already. Horatio was against the idea with Claude being drunk. No matter how well his intentions were, attending a funeral in a pitiful state was inappropriate. “Horatio, I’m fine. I can go.” And yet the man wobbled trying to stay upright. “I just need some water and I’ll be good.” 

Panic settled over Horatio; he felt the rising heat of Solomon’s glare burning through his shirt to his skin. He held onto his brother trying to steady him. “Claude-”

Claude grabbed his brother’s biceps. “I’m good, Horatio. Trust me.” The empty look in Claude’s sluggish, dilated eyes said otherwise. He wasn’t okay. Claude was tormented by a failure that wasn’t his fault. 

Solomon stepped in. “Claude.” Everyone froze. Their bodies all tensed up. Dorian and Horatio swallowed hard lumps. 

The patriarch was an eerie calm and reserved when he addressed Claude. He straightened the man’s shirt and plucked balls of lint from his blazer. Gritting his teeth, without warning, Solomon backhanded Claude with a closed fist. He fell onto the floor from tripping over his feet. Horatio and Joaquin rushed to assist while Christian and Gerald pulled Solomon away in case he thought about striking again. “Solomon! What the Hell was that?” Dorian’s stunned eyes darted between his brother and Claude. He was dumbfounded by what transpired. Solomon had never put hands on anyone in such a savage way.

Claude was attacked with a barrage of verbal assaults from the grief-stricken Solomon. With every lash of Solomon’s tongue against his ears, the chip of pride every Hightower carried on their shoulder from birth was gradually chipped away. Were Solomon in striking distance, Claude would have surely been assaulted again. “Apollo’s gone because of your incompetence.” Soft as his words were, they still cut like razors. The reminder made Claude wince. “I-I can’t believe this…” Solomon’s voice trailed off. Anguish eyes darted around the room looking for something or someone to lock on instead of Claude’s face. Shaky hands combed through his dark hair over and over in repetitive movements. 

Horatio’s chest constricted watching his brother receive an unfair beratement. Although his loyalty to Solomon was unshakeable. And his respect for him undying. Claude was his brother by blood. With trepidation fluttering in his throat, chest, and stomach, Horatio addressed Solomon on Claude’s behalf. The crowd of eyes widened hearing the protestation. “I apologize for stepping out of turn Solomon. And I hope you’ll forgive me.” Horatio’s chin lowered slightly, gazing at the man with eyes that reflected his trepidation. “It’s unfortunate what happened to your son, truly. However,” he cleared his throat, “piling the blame onto Claude’s shoulders is not only unfair…it won’t help your grief either.” 

The stunt only left Claude disgruntled instead of awed. He pulled Horatio backwards into him nearly knocking them both to the ground. “Shut…up…” He gritted through his teeth. Claude didn’t want to be defended, no matter how noble it was of Horatio. From the lens’ he saw through, the abuse and verbal lashings were well deserved for not doing more to save Solomon’s son. When they spied Apollo at the mausoleum, Claude felt he should have immediately pounced on the boy and sent him back inside. The blame was all his. The blame was Claude’s to bear. If only he hadn’t opened his mouth about that damn boarding school, the sequence of events wouldn’t have transpired. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe. 

Emboldened by Horatio’s display, Joaquin also stepped in to defend Claude. “Solomon… he’s right.” He stood beside Horatio creating a wall that blocked Claude from Solomon’s view. “Claude went after Apollo. He… He tried… But the storm was too violent. It came out of nowhere, literally. I mean-I mean we were nearly struck by lightning ourselves.” Gerald and the other man who had been present confirmed the series of events. Claude went out there in the storm, risking his own safety, to save Apollo. 

The fearsome expression on the patriarch’s face softened hearing the men vouch for Claude. He couldn’t help but admire their moral uprightness, even if that meant facing Solomon’s wrath. “I see…” Solomon chewed on his quivering bottom lip. He wiped his sweaty hands against his slacks. He shut his eyes tightly. Deep within the pits of his soul, Solomon knew they were right. Apollo’s death was nothing more than a cruel Act of God than an act of human incompetence and negligence. Having to admit that, especially out loud, tore him apart at the seams further. Tears came like rain again. His abated agony had intensified once again. The weeping man reached for Christian and Gerald; he was embraced. He held onto them tightly afraid they would leave him too in his moment of torment. 

Dorian’s face and mood soured observing the tender scene. He felt snubbed. Even at his lowest moment, Solomon turned to others instead of him, his own brother. It should have been Dorian Solomon embraced first, not Christian. It should have been Dorian, Solomon sought refuge in, not Gerald. It should have been his shoulder that Solomon cried into, not theirs. The slighted man spun in the opposite direction to hide his expression. He shoved his trembling hands into his pockets so no one could see his anger. Dorian’s heart, once again, was in shambles. 

The handkerchief Christian gave Solomon for his face; he handed off to Claude. “Clean your face and finish getting ready.” Solomon gave him three minutes, or Claude would be left behind. 

“Thank you…Solomon.” Claude replied, accepting the cloth. 

 

The funeral officiant for Apollo’s service was Loukas Lightwood. “And where is Lucia?” Solomon demanded, his aggravation rising. It wasn’t his intention to catch an attitude with Loukas. It was nothing personal against him. Lucia was who Solomon expected. Was who he personally requested to perform Apollo’s last rites. Every head of the Lightwood family was supposed to officiate the marriages, baptisms, and funerals for the highborn of the Hightowers. Dorian was puzzled by Solomon’s fit. Did it really matter who it was officiating? Loukas or Lucia? As long as there was an officiant, that’s all that should have mattered. Right? 

Control. The issue stemmed from a lack of control. The angry fits were a side effect of not being able to control the situation how Solomon wanted. 

Loukas, nervous, and dabbing the sweat from his forehead head, apologized thrice over. “Lucia is dealing with some personal matters that couldn’t be brushed aside. She asked me to handle the service in her absence and apologizes for the inconvenience on her part. The matriarch also sends her condolences as well.” Solomon cut his eyes at the last sentence.

“Whatever…” Nothing could be done to rectify the situation. Lucia was probably hungover somewhere, Solomon suspected. “Proceed…”

Loukas replied, “Happily.” 

The moment went from extended shock to real for Solomon watching his son’s casket placed into the ground, and the four gravediggers swarming upon the hole to begin burial. Apollo was truly gone. While the tearful Solomon watched them shovel dirt, precious early memories of his son played back in his mind. Becoming a mother was his dear Josie’s greatest desire and Solomon beamed with pride that he was able to grant his wife that wish. Josie had always wanted more children (Solomon personally didn’t). She begged her husband for two more but unfortunately it never happened. She couldn’t get pregnant again. Apollo was her one and only child and she held him close until the day she departed the world. 

Apollo was born term on a light rainy day like his funeral. He was eight pounds and thirteen ounces. The ideal healthy child every parent prayed for. The anxious new parents were relieved as they were overjoyed by his arrival. Solomon remembered every detail of his son’s birth from the fresh complexion of his skin to the adorable kitten-like cries to his new scent after his first bath. But it was Josie’s reaction to holding her new son for the first time that stole his attention. That took his breath away all over again, like the first time he laid eyes on her and the day Solomon looked upon Josie in her stunning wedding dress at the altar. 

Motherhood had changed Josie for the good. She was already a beautiful woman but after giving birth to their son, her beauty doubled, more radiant than Solomon already saw her as. Josie was in love, not with her baby boy, but with becoming a mother—Apollo’s mother. In her immaculate hazel eyes, it appeared Josie had already seen what the future held for Apollo. A bright future and amazing life she was determined to give her son by any means. Unfortunately, Solomon felt tinges of jealousy seeing the love Josie held for Apollo in those eyes he adored so much. In eyes that should have never strayed away from him. His son had just arrived and yet he felt like Apollo was stealing his wife away from him. 

Look, Solomon! Look! Josie didn’t want him missing out on Apollo’s first steps and nearly fainted from the excitement. Apollo with his fat little cheeks giggled with delight as he hobbled towards his father with arms outstretched, waiting to be picked up by Solomon. 

Solomon! Did you hear his first words just now? Apollo, tell daddy what you said. It was, “Dada” instead of mama which broke Josie’s heart just a little. Solomon’s weathered face was graced with a gentle smile over the sweet memories even though his eyes continued swelling with tears.

Apollo. Solomon’s sweet son. His precious child. His beloved wife’s son. The man turned his gaze skyward towards Heaven. Rain mixed in with his tears. “Apollo, will you-will you tell your mother I said, ‘Daddy misses you?’” He spoke in a barely registerable voice. The child—the son Solomon had once neglected after his mother’s demise created a wider hole in his heart than he ever imagined. 

Everyone around Solomon became alarmed when his expression abruptly turned hostile. The man sensed a disturbance. Solomon looked down and saw Alexander Hightower standing before him. An unfortunate sight. An unwarranted visit. The sorrowful man’s day had gotten worse. In the mayor’s hands he held white carnations that signified remembrance. Solomon couldn’t help but smirk. How thoughtful of our kind mayor. He thought sarcastically to himself. “Alexander…”

“Solomon…” He greeted in the same heatless tone as his counterpart. The men didn’t say anything more for a few moments. The light rain ceased, chased away by the two men’s hostile energy. 

“And what business do you have here?” He asked the man with skeptical eyes and tone, withholding his irritated anger. 

Alexander looked down at the carnations, over at the digging men, and then returned to Solomon. “Your car’s extended warranty has lapsed.” Various stifled laughter was heard in the background. Solomon’s mouth twitched fighting back an amused grin. “So happy I could bring a smile to that sullen face of yours.” The mayor reached for Solomon’s cheek, intending to stroke it but had his hand slapped away. The twitching ceased, reverting back to a scowl. Alexander tsked with disappointment, informing Solomon he came to offer his condolences not as the mayor of Wych Elm, but as his family member. Solomon thought his response was facetious, raising his nose in the air. “‘There’s no tragedy in life like the death of a child. Things never get back to the way they were.’ So, said Eisenhower.” The judge was caught off guard hearing sentimental words from Alexander’s mouth of all people. 

Solomon snapped his fingers at Joaquin. The man straightened. “The flowers.” He spoke without emotion. 

“Yes, Solomon.” Joaquin replied, confiscating them from Alexander’s custody. 

“Next time…just send a card in the mail.” 

“Well…” Alexaner looked over at his entourage and back. “Given Apollo was your only child; there won’t be a next time.” To preserve his sanity and not make an ass of himself in front of everyone, Solomon acted like he didn’t hear the words. 

Dorian stepped in and assumed responsibility as Solomon’s mouthpiece. “If that’s all, Alexander. You may leave.” Family or not. Mayor or not. It was a private funeral. Alexander wasn’t welcomed there regardless of his kind-heartedintentions. Alexander with knitted eyebrows and a wrinkled nose, looked Dorian from head to toe with indignation in his angry eyes. “The grownups are talking right now, buddy.” He replied to Dorian with a discourteous pat of the man’s shoulder. 

“You ass-” Dorian was restrained by Christian and Joaquin. 

“You better not do that here, Dorian…” Christian snapped low in his ear. The hot-headed man was told to chill out by Joaquin. “Go!” He was ordered to step back.

Dorian didn’t accept being ordered by Christian well. His skin became hot. “Watch how you speak to me, Christian.” He grabbed the man by his nicely starched shirt wrinkling it in the process. 

Christian, however, looked at him smug. “Cute, Dorian. Cute.” He wasn’t intimidated by Dorian in the slightest and never would. Horatio and Claude separated the men with the latter pulling Dorian away, shushing him like a child. 

Alexander and Solomon, who had been tuning out the extra noise, continued their conversation as if they were the only people present. “Question, Solomon.” Alexander put his counterpart on the spot in front of the crowd, brazenly asking why the boy wasn’t interred with his mother in her mausoleum. “Surely, your Josie would have wanted her only child beside her for all eternity.” The stunned silence of the funeral crowd was loud. Even the birds and insects stopped making noise. The mayor shamelessly doubled down. “But then again you’ve never liked sharing your wife with your own son.” Alexander thought the burial decision spoke volumes of the man as a father. Solomon’s eyes slowly turned red; Alexander bit back a grin. 

“That was sinister, Alexander. You really came here to antagonize a grieving father on his son’s funeral? That’s low even for a snake like you.” Christian snapped. His words like finely sharpened daggers. The disrespectful commentary had many of the Silver Hightowers riled up and ready to brawl on Solomon’s behalf. The bodyguards, however, stepped in for crowd control.

Solomon didn’t give in. He didn’t bite the bait. Instead, he flipped the conversation’s topic back on Alexander. “Shouldn’t you be making funeral preparations of your own?” His eyes narrowed into slits. Awaiting the answer, Solomon rocked on his heels as he stepped backwards towards the fresh mound of dirt that covered Apollo’s coffin. 

Alexander’s eyebrows furrowed deeper…confused? Then he remembered. “Oh! Her?” He waved a dismissive hand through the air. “That little nuisance has been put to rest already. It was long overdue to.” He muttered on an annoyed breath. Solomon asked if Saraphina was interred in the Old Cahawba crypt. Alexander responded with a lie. “She’s buried out in the woods somewhere.” The Silver Hightowers made ghastly expressions. 

The answer repulsed Solomon. Horatio snorted. “And the nerve of you to think of Solomon as a cold-hearted bastard when you’re nothing more than a sadist.” Alexander removed his sunglasses, turned to Loukas beside him and used the man’s stole to clean them before returning the sunglasses to his face. Loukas, irritated, moved to the other side where the Silver Hightowers stood. 

“You Silver Hightowers are an annoying lot, you know that? Rather committed to this ‘Holier than Thou’ act, huh?” He said with a flick of his wrist. The question earned a grimace from Horatio. “Do I need to remind you all, that no matter the color, be it silver or crimson, we are all grown from the same tree?” Alexander claimed he and Solomon were two sides of the very same coin, as were all the Hightowers. 

“And yet, here we are, split apart.” Dorian rejoined the conversation. He wouldn’t be insulted by such a blasphemous statement. Refused to be lumped in with Alexander and his scum of the Earth clan. He, Solomon, and his family weren’t monsters like their counterparts. 

An amused Alexander shook his head processing the words. “Oh, Dorian, your brother is exactly like me.” He stated with a wall of confidence behinds his words. “You and the others just see him differently through eyes obscured by a veil darkly.” Alexander elaborated further. Solomon did the same awful things he did. The man just used others to commit his deeds to avoid his own hands getting dirty. Both of them moved through the world in the exact manner, except Solomon used justifications to avoid accountability. Alexander didn’t need justifications for his crimes against others. “No matter how much or how hard you scrub your hands, they’re still stained. Just. Like. Mine.” Alexander told Solomon with a perverse delight, opening his hands like they were a book.

Having had enough of Alexander’s nonsense for the day, Solomon announced he was leaving. A migraine was on the rise which usually happened every time he was around Alexander for long periods of time. Apollo was laid to rest and buried. There was no reason for him to linger around the dead longer than he needed. “We’re leaving now-”

Suddenly, Alexander hunched forward, wincing, his face contorting hard. He rubbed his chest trying to sooth the sharp pain. “Just a little acid reflux.” He told everyone, laughing while still wincing. 

Dorian slapped his hands on his hips. Curious eyes squinted hard on the man. “You have acid reflux? Since when?” Alexander was a pathological liar for fun. If he was given the opportunity, Dorian knew Alexander would lie to God just because he could. 

Struggling to stand, Alexander reached for his bodyguard. The other man assisted him, allowing his body to be used as a crutch for the mayor. “I don’t see how that’s your business, Dorian.” His name rolled off Alexander’s tongue with hatred. “But yes, I have acid reflux.” Dorian still didn’t buy the answer. 

“Solomon Hightower!” The piercing shriek of Gianna’s voice echoed across the High Gardens. “Solomon Hightower!” Gianna, fuming, shoved a path through the crowd despite her thin, delicate frame. The anger that possessed the woman gave her much needed strength to confront her younger brother. Dorian tried intercepting his sister, but she shoved them apart with Gianna stumbling over her feet backwards into the crowd. Had it not been for Joaquin’s and Claude’s quick reflexes, she would have collided with the ground. “Get away!” Gianna pulled away from the men without so much as a “Thank you” for saving her from injury. Her heat-filled eyes immediately snapped in Solomon’s direction. He in turn gawked at Gianna. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She was supposed to be home in her suite recovering from a cold. 

“Gia-” The woman slapped her name out of his mouth before he could finish. 

Alexander, delighted by the noisy disturbance, sharply whistled. “There’s trouble in West Eden, yes?” He commented with excitement. 

Solomon grabbed his sister by her shoulders, taking care that he was gentle. Too much pressure would have easily broken her bones. “What-what are you doing here right now?” Eyes consumed by a raging anger looked behind Gianna at the people responsible for her care. Their gazes were to the ground. “What is my sister doing here?” He asked in a low, almost snarling tone. “She’s too sick to be outside the estate. Why would you idiots let her leave?” Solomon called them useless. Their jobs were good as terminated when they all returned to the estate. That was if Solomon didn’t murder them all before returning to West Eden. 

Sharp nails clawed at Solomon’s exposed wrists. Blood seeped out. Solomon released Gianna as a result. She wanted to slap her brother again but had used up the last of her energy. The physical trek from her suite down to the car and to the High Gardens without use of her wheelchair exerted too much of a strain on her already weak body. Gianna stood before Solomon with a glare of disdain on her face, panting from exhaustion and shaking from anger. An attendant hurried up from behind. “Miss Gianna, I have your wheelchair-”

Gianna snapped at the man. “To hell with that damn wheelchair!” She told him to get away from her, or she would hit him next. The man remained, however. His fearful eyes caught between Solomon and Gianna. The poor man didn’t know what to do. 

“It’s fine.” Solomon said. It wasn’t fine, but his sister was already riled up enough for his liking. Agitating Gianna further would have added more strain on her body. 

“Damn it…” Gianna swore on a heavy breath. Her body was ready to give out. Rather than asking for the wheelchair, she called Claude, of all people, to her side. The man stood baffled, looking at Horatio to his right and then Joaquin to his left. The two were just as equally confused. “Claude!” Gianna called his name again, but with a harsh tone similar to Solomon’s when he was mad. “Hold me up, please.” She switched to a gentle voice. Gianna guided his arm around her waist while she slung hers behind his neck. The sickly woman was so lightweight that Claude could have easily scooped her into his arms if he wanted. 

“Stop being stubborn, Gianna, and just get in your damn wheelchair.” Solomon raised his voice to his sister which had everyone jolted. He never—never spoke to Gianna the way he did to Dorian or others. It was serious. Solomon wasn’t happy Gianna risked her safety and health with her stunt.  

In response, Gianna slipped off her shoe and flung it at Solomon. The object missed his head by a hair and struck Loukas in the shoulder. Why am I still doing here? I should have dipped the moment Alexander and his clan showed up. Nothing good happens when both Hightower families are together. Loukas thought to himself as he picked up Gianna’s shoe. He should have beat the road after being hit. However, he was intrigued to see the mess play out. Christian took the shoe off his hands and placed it back on Gianna’s foot. Sadly, Christian received no thanks for doing so.

“How dare you, Solomon…” Feeble Gianna paused her words for a moment. She started coughing, and coughing, and coughing, to Solomon’s distress. “How dare you keep me from attending my own nephew’s funeral! You’ve absolutely lost your damn mind this time.” Gianna called her overprotective brother a bastard without regard of all who was in attendance. Alexander was heard snickering and snorting in the background as the conflict played out. He came to like Gianna, the only Silver Hightower he ever would because she wasn’t afraid to call Solomon out on his bullshit, even in public in front of his enemies. 

Constantly worried about Gianna’s health, Solomon tried calming his sister down. Her disease would inflict greater toll on her body the more she worked herself up. “I kept you away because a cemetery is no place for a sick woman like yourself.” Solomon’s hands were slapped away when he attempted touching her. An angry hiss escaped the woman’s mouth hearing the answer. 

“I am exactly where I need to be, Solomon. Apollo was my fucking nephew.” That was Gianna’s child too, no more than he had been Josie’s and Solomon’s child. Because of the autoimmune disease that ravaged her body, Apollo was— had been the closest Gianna would get to having a child of her own. When informed of Apollo’s death and the details surrounding it, Gianna had to be forcefully sedated because of her hysteria. No one brought the terminally ill woman greater joy in life than Apollo, not even her own parents or her siblings. Every time Apollo came to visit, Gianna’s mood was lightened. Her health improved just enough to indulge his company for a few hours. She cherished those moments with her nephew while simultaneously grieving the moments she would never experience again with him. 

They would be no more painting with Apollo, or putting together puzzles, or having afternoon tea while complaining about their mutual dislike of Solomon. No more sneaking outside to stargaze at night, or hearing about Apollo’s lacrosse games, or cradling Apollo close when he missed his mother. The night Apollo died was the night the last shred of happiness Gianna experienced in a miserable world also died. But to deny Gianna attendance to her own nephew’s funeral under the pretenses of him being worried about her health… Oh! That was unforgiveable. “Apollo was your fucking son!” Gianna’s angry words continued echoing across the quiet cemetery. So loud she could have stirred the dead awake. “And then… You couldn’t even honor him or Josie by having him buried with her!” Gianna called Solomon a bastard again but added the word selfish in front that time.

Alexander whispered, “See! I was right! I said the same thing too!” to the person beside him who nodded in agreement.

“You have no idea how much I despise you for this, Solomon.” She told him clutching at her chest. It wasn’t the physical pain that made Gianna ache so terribly; it was the emotional pain. The betrayal from her own brother. Her nephew’s father. The crowd as her witness, Gianna proclaimed she would never forgive Solomon for those transgressions. A thick blanket of silence settled over the crowd and cemetery again. Alexander, tickled, sucked in his mouth to stifle the laughter teetering on his lips. 

Solomon’s body recoiled like an invisible force had knocked him backwards. He never expected such heartless words to leave his sister’s mouth directed at him. But the younger brother fired back at her. “Gianna…everything I’ve done over the years. Everything I do now is for your overall safety and health.” Some of the crowd goers thought Solomon was on the verge of tears. His eyes had begun turning red again. From hurt or from anger? It may have been both. His words were shaky leaving his mouth. “You don’t mean that, Gianna.” No. Gianna wasn’t in her right mind at that moment. It was her grief talking, making her act out and say those abysmal words. The Gianna Solomon knew would never speak those kind of things to the person who took exceptional care of her over the years. Not his kind sister. His kind Gianna. But she meant every last word that rolled off her lips, unfortunately. 

From Gianna’s hollow eyes, her nephew’s death was on her brother’s hands. “You’re the reason Apollo’s dead. It should have been you… Why could it have not been you instead of Apollo?” The mad woman repeated until she felt her point was driven home. “You abandoned Apollo when he needed you the most. When he was at his most vulnerable. Youweren’t the only person destroyed over Josie’s death. You turned your back on your son! You pushed him away! Pushed him out of your life!” Alexander’s grin widened and widened until he looked like somewhat of a deranged madman. He ate up the nasty exchange like it was his last meal. Drained the cup like he had been stranded in a burning desert for three days. Alexander had been advised by his inner circle against dropping in unannounced to the funeral. Thank God he didn’t listen to them, or he would have missed the front row seat to Solomon’s humiliation before both Hightower clans. Alexander placed a hand to his chest. The turmoil between siblings had brought him some relief. 

“Enough with your outbursts, Gianna.” Solomon addressed her in a composed tone. His unsettling calmness had every Silver Hightower at attention. Solomon hadn’t lost temper; he just masked it. “You’re not well, my sister, and it seems your disease is beginning to affect your mental functioning.” He summoned bodyguards with a flick of two fingers. A man and a woman stepped forward out of the crowd. “Please help my sister back into the car.” 

“Solomon. I swear to God if they touch me-”

“It was an accident, Gianna, a freak accident and nothing more.” He continued speaking in that unsettling, composed tone of his. 

Claude put himself in front of Gianna blocking the two bodyguards. Solomon sneered at the man. “S-Solomon, let me take her to the car instead.” Solomon intended to tell him no but ultimately accepted the alternative, believing it would cause less of a ruckus compared to the latter. 

Disappointed in Solomon, Gianna shook her head. “You never deserved Josie.” Several people, Alexander included, sucked in sharp breaths when they heard the statement.  

Dorian had had enough with his sister’s mouth. He had been attacked, demeaned, and insulted enough already. For God’s Sake! It was the man’s son’s funeral. It seemed everyone had forgotten that important part as the heat filled moment escalated. “Gianna, enough!” Dorian grabbed her arm. “Let Claude take you to the car and go home!” Enough of their family’s business had been aired in front of the Crimson Hightowers for one day. 

Gianna’s eye twitched at her youngest brother’s audacity. She grabbed Dorian’s neck with her free hand and almost drove her nails into his flesh. Dorian, sensing what she intended to do, tensed up. A sudden moment of clarity stopped her from acting on violence, however. Her hand glided upward, cradling his cheek instead. Dorian’s body relaxed. “You’re so much more than Solomon’s obedient lapdog.” There was a painful sorrow in her voice, like she had been wanting to say the words for a long time but restrained herself from doing so. Gianna loathed how Solomon inadvertently corrupted their younger brother. “Even when he’s rightfully in the wrong, you still blindly come to his defense.” She then pointed accusingly at Christian, Horatio, and the sea of Silver Hightowers behind them.  “All of you!” She shrieked in madness. 

Gianna’s words unfortunately went straight over Dorian’s head. Blinded by the devastation he felt towards the way she viewed him, Dorian didn’t realize how much his sister’s love for him outweighed her love for Solomon. Gianna still saw him as a small, naïve child craving acknowledgement from an older brother that would never award it to him. Why would Solomon even bother when he rarely acknowledged his own son? From the time he could walk, Dorian aspired to be just like Solomon. He desired—hungered for Solomon’s attention. His recognition. Dorian didn’t mind living in Solomon’s shadow as long as he could be with him. And that disgusted Gianna. Drove her insane how Dorian never saw it himself when she did clear as day. She was certain Solomon’s lackeys, Christian and Horatio, saw it as well. After a while, Gianna came to resent Solomon who allowed the behavior to persist without correction. Who probably derived some perverse enjoyment from all of it, even if he presented otherwise. 

“Gianna, I’m not taking his side…” He whispered, hurt by the accusation. “Solomon is the patriarch, okay? Just-just listen to him.” Dorian pleaded with beady eyes.

Gianna’s mouth formed into a line. “Time to wake up, Dorian. Stop playing Solomon’s loyal fool before he drags you down a path you can’t turn back from.” She said nothing else. Dorian’s eyes were robbed of their light by the words. They became hollow just like Gianna’s eyes were. 

Solomon, rolling his eyes, stepped in between his siblings. “Claude. Car. Now.” He faced the bodyguards he had summoned earlier. “Gianna isn’t to leave her room.” Or there would be terrifying consequences. He would deal with his sister once they all returned home. And it would not be civil either. 

Claude helped Gianna onto his back while the woman continued protesting her inhumane treatment at Solomon’s authority. “Apollo’s death wasn’t an accident, Solomon! He told me it wasn’t.” Solomon ignored Gianna’s words which he wrote off as confusion induced rambling. “That man outside my window in the tree showed me the truth!” Solomon’s horrified eyes widened simultaneously as Alexander’s did. The Bound Man. Gianna knew of the entity? She had seen it too? 

“Gianna, shut up now!” Solomon barked. “And don’t say another word!” He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw began to hurt. 

Alexander parted the bodies in front of him and broke into an effortless sprint after Gianna before Claude could get her into the car. Solomon followed close behind along with both sets of the patriarchs’ bodyguards dead on their heels. “This takes me back to our high school track meet days.” Alexander released giddy laughter. Solomon, on the other hand, found nothing funny. He couldn’t let Alexander reach his sister before him. The mayor was still a hair faster than him though and reached Claude and Gianna just in time. He slammed the door closed and put his body in between them and the car.

“Move, Alexander!” Claude snapped, cradling Gianna close to him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice with Solomon’s sister. 

Alexander paid Claude no mind, ignoring him like he was invisible. He was locked on Gianna and demanded she reveal all she knew about the Bound Man. “So, he visits you also? What else? What else do you know about him? Hmm?” No answer. He flashed her a burning scowl. “Answer me, Gianna!” Alexander said emphatically. The woman showed no fear in the man’s presence. Why would Gianna when she wasn’t even afraid of Solomon?

Claude proceeded to shove Alexander into the car, once again shouting for him to stay away from Gianna. Alexander’s bodyguard grabbed Claude’s wrist and bent it backwards, breaking it. He wailed from the pain but never once lost custody of Gianna.

“Alexander! Get away from my sister!” Solomon snarled, almost foaming at the mouth with rage. He looked like a mad beast the way his face contorted. Alexander was Death incarnated in Solomon’s eyes. People who crossed the man’s path seemed to always drop dead after their encounter with him. “Don’t ever touch her! Don’t ever touch my sister! I’ll burn Old Cahawba to the ground.” Women, children, the sickly, and the old were included in that promise. Gianna would not be his next victim. Solomon would not allow it. 

A horde of bodies, both bodyguards and Hightowers alike, swarmed on the car, shoving and elbowing each other. A brutal clash between the twin Hightower families erupted. Amidst the scuffle, Dorian was clocked in the eye by Victor with an elbow. His eye began swelling immediately. The skirmish was broken up by the bodyguards before it escalated further. 

Pissed, Dorian spat blood on the shirt of Alexander’s bodyguard. The man had blocked him from reaching Victor. “Damn you! This isn’t over, Victor!” Dorian promised Victor he would spend the rest of his miserable life looking over his shoulder in fear. “You’re weak! A coward!” The irate man felt a strong grip on his shoulder. It was Solomon. 

“We’re going.” Authority rang in his voice. “Never mind Victor.” Because when the right time came, Solomon had something in store for Alexander’s brother. Dorian, holding a hand to his swollen eye, trailed behind Solomon, throwing sporadic evil eyes in Victor’s direction. 

All the while Victor continued taunting and gloating as he too walked away. “Pussy-” 

“Shut it, Victor.” An umbrella connected with the back of his head. Alexander laid into Victor like a serrated knife cutting into a slain animal’s flesh. “Do you have any idea how ignorantly foolish that was?” A hand chop to his throat. Victor wheezed. “We didn’t come here with intentions of starting an altercation. You bark when I tell you, and you bite when I say so.” Victor promised it wouldn’t happen again and apologized. “We’re leaving too.” The mayor turned on his heel and stalked away in the opposite direction of where Solomon was headed. He never bothered making sure Victor was with him because he expected everyone to fall in line without being told. 

“If I may ask, Alexander. What was all that about? Who-who is that man Gianna brought up?” Victor rubbed his aching throat as he waited for an answer. “Solomon had the same reaction you had.” Alexander had peeped that. He found it interesting and needed—had to know what Solomon’s experience with the Bound Man was like compared to his. “Alexander?” Despite being ignored, Victor continued asking about the mysterious man Gianna spoke of. “Is this man someone from yours and Solomon’s past?” He craned his neck, looking at his brother with large, bewildered eyes. Alexander told Victor they would discuss the matter upon returning home. He was in the middle of deep thought. His brother’s answer was a letdown. Victor threw in the towel and fell back. “Could we also discuss Virgil and his punishment?” He slid the topic in behind.  

Victor, unlike with their mother, was granted unlimited visitation with Virgil while he was still under Alexander’s house arrest directive. If Virgil apologized to Alexander for his previous remarks, the directive would be lifted. However, Virgil refused to apologize, even though being confined to his suite the last two weeks had been eroding his mental health. Victor, hoping to catch Alexander in a good mood, wanted to re-negotiate his twin’s punishment. Maybe Alexander could allow Virgil freedom from their shared suite for an hour or two a day. 

“Hmm?” was all Victor received in response to his question. 

 

Solomon had ignored Dorian calling his name all the way to the car. “Solomon! I know you hear me.” He held his brother in place by his arm. “What in the Hell was that all about just now? Who is Gianna talking about? Why is there a man hanging outside her window in a tree?” And why did he and Alexander react the way they did when Gianna brought the man brought up? What was Solomon’s, Gianna’s, and Alexander’s relationship to the man? Does he have something to do with the girl’s body found in that tree? Is he the killer? What did Gianna know about him that made Alexander press her for details? All questions the concerned man hounded Solomon with without taking a breath. But to Dorian’s vexation, he was told it was a matter for later. Dorian wasn’t pleased. “Solomon, tell me so I can help you.” His grip on his brother’s wrist remained strong. 

Solomon, however, was in too volatile a mood to discuss the topic. He scowled looking down at his wrist. “Later, Dorian…” He replied, trying not to snap at his pestering brother. Dorian rolled his eyes. He dropped the topic, for the moment at least, but once Solomon was in a better mood, he would bring it up again. 

As the two Hightower families began their departure from the High Gardens, Solomon and Alexander both remarked how they felt the piercing stare of the Bound Man descending upon them.

 

Gianna turned down Claude’s offer of escorting her back up to her suite. “They can take me from here.” She said, sitting down in her wheelchair. The woman released a weary sigh. The feel of her chair under her weight was Heaven. Poor Gianna was exhausted in every aspect possible. “And you need to see the physician about that injury anyways.” Claude concealed his broken wrist behind him when Gianna reached out. He told her not to worry about him. Her sad eyes turned troubled. “Lean down for me.” She requested with politeness. When Claude leaned down, Gianna placed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I forgive you for what happened to Apollo.” She whispered. 

Those sweet, forgiving words enveloped Claude like a soothing hug his late grandmother would give him when he was upset. Gianna didn’t owe him an apology but gave him one anyways to absolve him of a guilt that should have never been dumped on him to begin with. Claude’s world, in the aftermath of Apollo’s death, was cold, dead, like the young boy currently at rest in the High Gardens. He had been plagued day and night by emotions that devoured his mind. Then there was Gianna. Sweet Gianna. She drove away the cold. She showed the broken man that even a dim light is still a light, and it would guide him out of the darkness. “In the end, it doesn’t matter what Solomon thinks. What he believes. Apollo died knowing you, not Solomon his father, came to save him.” Claude’s heart erupted with joy. He was grateful to Gianna for raising his spirits.

Solomon strolled through the door with Dorian, Christian, and the others right on his heels. He aimed a suspicious eyebrow at Claude seeing him in Gianna’s personal space. “Have I missed out on something?” Or had he walked in on something? Either way, Solomon would find out. 

Gianna’s gentle eyes turned hateful when Solomon addressed them. “No. You haven’t. Every conversation that happens under this roof doesn’t need your involvement.” She spat. The cold response had Solomon frowning. “Have a good afternoon, everyone.” A chorus of voices returned the greeting back. “Patrick, take me upstairs now.” The young man nodded and wheeled Gianna down the hall to the elevator. 

All eyes fell on Claude next. Solomon asked the man what he and Gianna were talking about before he walked in. When it came to giving his answer, the man was conflicted. He didn’t want to lie to Solomon, even though the man held resentment towards him over Apollo’s death, had assaulted him, and demeaned him for his failure. But he appreciated the kindness shown to him by Gianna seconds earlier. “Your sister asked to see my broken wrist. That’s all Solomon.” Claude suspected Solomon didn’t really buy his lie. However, it was never questioned or countered. 

“I see…” He said, running his tongue over his teeth. Irritation rising again. “Be off to the doctor about that broken wrist, yes?” Solomon faced Christian. “The blueprints? Any updates? Have they been found?” With a regretful expression, Christian informed Solomon they hadn’t been located yet. He had the assigned people comb the library three times already. Nothing. The men took slow steps backward having anticipated the eruption that followed next. Solomon’s face turned demonic again as strong emotions began possessing him. The Silver Hightower patriarch—the esteemed Judge of Wych Elm tore through the first level of the estate like a raging hurricane. No object in his path or line of sight was safe from his violent hands. When house staff came hurrying into the area, Solomon barked at them to leave, or he wouldn’t be responsible for what happened to them. They would be sent for when his crusade ended. 

“Without those blueprints, we’re right back at the beginning.” Horatio spoke quietly fearing Solomon would pounce on him next if he were too loud. 

Dorian was silent during the discussion as the men around him weighed alternatives. None of which would yield the intended outcome. An exasperated sigh escaped an exhausted Christian. “What to do? What to do?” He clicked his tongue.

Finally settled down, Solomon rejoined the men. He had worn himself down to the point he was retiring to bed for the day. “Call the staff back…” Solomon was too tired to even finish his sentence. Instead, motioning around to the destruction he had wrought. 

Dorian used that moment of calm to speak up. All eyes turned to him. “Maeve’s women.” It wasn’t guaranteed to work, but it was something, which was better than where they currently stood. “Some of the lowborn Crimson Hightowers may know of secret ways into Old Cahawba. If the woman is worth their wild, they may, in their drunken state, be willing to tell their lover.” Once again, Dorian reiterated that it may work in their favor. “I have little doubt there isn’t one or three lovesick men willing to risk it all for one of Maeve’s women.” Dorian then suggested picking three of the most popular women in the brothel. “But we buy the women’s silence to keep our plan in the dark with Maeve. I wouldn’t entirely trust the Sinclairs’ allegiance to us.” He suspected the siblings would drift in the direction which benefitted them the most. Solomon gave his brother his well-deserved flowers. He was impressed. He was immediately sold on the plan. It seemed Dorian was finally coming around. That was the Dorian Solomon wanted. The Dorian he could rely on like he did Horatio and Christian. The Dorian Hightower, Solomon wanted by his side. 

The reserved man was held by his older brother and patriarch, whose mood he had improved, if only for the moment. “Dorian, that’s brilliant.” Solomon praised while kissing his cheeks. The affection of praise, however, elicited minimal response from Dorian. There was no smile. There was no leap for joy. No burst of cockiness. In fact, Dorian appeared rather…disinterested by Solomon’s affection.

Christian, squinting at Dorian, turned to an equally perplexed Horatio about Dorian’s sudden change in demeanor. “What’s his deal?” An innocent shrug from Horatio. 

“Maybe that brain of his finally developed.” Christian snickered into Joaquin’s shoulder. Horatio stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I can head over to the Red-Light District now, if you would like me to.” Solomon replied there was no need for the day. He ordered everyone to enjoy the rest of their afternoon. The rest of the week would be spent grieving Apollo, and they would resume on Monday. 

No one teleported out of there faster than Christian who was eager to be with his wife and daughter. Only Dorian and Solomon remained. “I’m proud of you, Dorian. I want you to know that.” He told his brother while patting his cheeks. Solomon was given a soft smile but there was neither warmth nor satisfaction behind it. “Thank you for being my rock during this awful time.” Dorian’s smile dropped when Solomon turned his back. 

Unable to keep his expressions behind a mask, Dorian excused himself. “I’ll see you later, Solomon… Again, I’m sorry for the loss of your son.” Solomon’s shoulders slumped. His heart broke all over again thinking about their home Apollo would never return to again. “If you need me, I’ll be in my suite.” That said, Dorian left without a second glance of his brother.

During Solomon’s destructive tirade, while reflecting on other matters that bothered him earlier in the day, something awakened inside Dorian. It happened as he watched his brother lose his entire composure and terrorize the first level of their home. Alexander’s words from the cemetery set off deafening alarm bells inside his mind. For so long, Dorian idolized his brother like people idolized great athletes. He would have done anything for Solomon, even had the skin flayed from his back to keep his brother warm. But in that troubling moment, Dorian didn’t see Solomon, his brother. He saw Alexander, his enemy, in his brother’s image, and that rattled Dorian to his foundational core. 

So much could be said about Alexander as a person, but, when necessary, the man told the truth. Usually when he knew turmoil would erupt and suffering would ensue. The turn of events troubled Dorian because it meant that not only was Alexander right, but his sister Gianna was also as well. Admiration had indeed blinded Dorian for years. He truly was Solomon’s fool as stated by Gianna. 

Yet even with a different outlook in front of him, a part of Dorian was still enthralled by Solomon’s greatness. A part of Dorian still wanted to happily follow Solomon to the end, knowing that end probably led into a sea of fire. Dorian also knew the spell his brother had over him couldn’t be completely broken. 

 

“Leave.” Gianna’s medical personnel were permitted to remain while the rest were banished from the suite. 

The woman’s disdain for Solomon immediately reignited when he came through the door. “Get. Out.” Gianna commanded her brother. “I don’t want to see your face for a while.” The fire behind her words meant she was indeed serious. The sight of him disgusted Gianna. She was repulsed by Solomon’s presence and felt more ill than she already was. “Go, Solomon! Get out of here!” She snapped at him with a ferocious bite. 

“No.” Solomon closed in on Gianna’s bed only stopping when he reached the foot of it. Dark shadows cast over his face that gave him a more intimidating appearance. He placed his right knee on the bed to brace himself. “You and I are going to have a conversation.” Solomon told his sister without a dot of emotion; his eyes swirled with clouds of darkness as he spoke. Gianna chuckled weakly, scoffing too. She told Solomon to enjoy talking to himself because she had nothing to say to him. “You will answer my questions.” Solomon narrowed his hostile eyes at her. 

“You’ve never intimidated me a day in my life, Solomon. So, cut it out.” Gianna mocked him with a matching expression. “Josie and I were probably the only two people in this family who have never been afraid of you.” Enraged, Solomon stepped down and kicked the mattress. Gianna observed. Her arms crossed. Her eyes at half-mast. 

“Gianna, what exactly do you know about the Bound Man?” Solomon resumed the conversation, disregarding his sister’s resistance. “For the last few weeks, I’ve been seeing…it at every interval. It showed up in my nightmares initially. Now I see the Bound Man even while I’m awake. At the cemetery, you mentioned it told you Apollo’s death wasn’t an accident.” That specific piece of information had Solomon’s interest piqued. He couldn’t recall one time where the Bound Man had spoken to him, yet it had to his sister. The revenant from his nightmares usually observed him in silence, never uttering so much as a moan or a groan. 

Gianna’s white, chapped lips curled into a sinister smile, which unnerved Solomon. “You already have the answer, brother. Nightmares. The Bound Man is yours and Alexander’s nightmare.” She was gleeful about the statement. When Solomon asked Gianna what she meant by those words and if the Bound Man told her anything else, the woman began singing lines from the nursey rhyme. “His ropes are bound so tightly… His ropes are bound so tightly… So, no one hears him scream.” Her head fell backwards against the headboard. Gianna chortled until it turned into a nasty coughing fit. Solomon, his jaw tightening, the muscle under his eye twitching again, hounded her with more questions but was ignored. 

“Fine.” Solomon’s emotions settled. “After your little outburst earlier in the High Gardens in front of Alexander and his family, you’re no longer allowed to leave your suite without my permission.” The coughing fit ended abruptly. Gianna began swearing at her brother, throwing more hateful glares his way.

“I don’t give a damn who you are. Patriarch or head judge, you don’t tell me what to do.” Gianna kicked off her blankets and perched on her knees. “I wish Josie had never died because it seemed you lost your mind the day you lost her.” Gianna was insulted over Solomon thinking he owned her. Her late sister-in-law may have put up with the behavior, but she would not. “I’m not even going to entertain you by arguing about this.” Bitter laughter. Gianna had never been a prideful Hightower like the rest of her clan. She was content with the idea of living out her numbered days in a facility, and she would if it meant getting the Hell away from her deranged brother. And with her precious nephew dead, Gianna was liberated from all attachments that kept her shackled to Wych Elm. To West Eden. To the Silver Hightowers. 

A veil of crimson fell over Solomon’s vision. Absolutely not. Gianna wasn’t going anywhere. Having already lost his wife, his son, and their parents, Solomon couldn’t lose his sister either. Regardless of how much she despised his existence at the moment. Gianna was the last stitch that held Solomon’s sanity together for the time being. If she left, it was over for Solomon. He couldn’t allow that. And would not. “Gianna… I’m sorry for this.” Solomon spun and faced the medical team standing quiet against the shadowed wall. Gianna peered at her brother with suspicious eyes. “Do it…” 

Gianna’s horrified eyes widened as four of the six personnel encroached upon her bed. She screamed obscenities in between her hatred for Solomon. The man stepped away and supervised the scene with tears forming in his eyes. The audacity of him to cry when it was all his doing. “I hate you, Solomon!” She screeched as her limbs were pinned against the bed. Poor Gianna had no strength whatsoever to fight back, though that didn’t stop her. “I hate you! You’re going to burn in Hell, Solomon, I hope you know that! I hate you! I hate you!” Gianna twisted. She then tried bucking but wasn’t able. “Solomon, you bastard!” 

Gianna’s physician hovered above her with a syringe containing a powerful sedative. “Mr. Hightower, are you sure about this?” The doctor asked, turning to Solomon. “This particular sedative over time may lead to prolonged lethargy.” Solomon nodded for her to proceed. The physician was dismayed by the command; she had wanted Solomon to reconsider, finding it cruel punishment. The woman had been Gianna’s physician for years and came to regard the ill woman as more of a friend than a patient. “I am sorry about this, Gianna.” She looked down with regret filled eyes.

“Don’t apologize, Tara.” Gianna closed her eyes and accepted what was to come. “This won’t change anything between us.” It did, however, with her brother though. Solomon was beyond her forgiveness. Tears began trickling down Gianna’s face. Both brothers were now dead to her. 

Tara placed the needle at the vein but didn’t immediately inject the sedative. She hesitated, conflicted. The Hippocratic Oath echoed in the hallways of her mind. Do no harm. And she was about to. Her hand started trembling from the hesitation. It was wrong. Injecting a harmless woman with a powerful sedative because her brother said to was so unethically wrong. It was immoral too. Tara felt her stomach violently twisting. She grunted. She whimpered. “Dr. Goodwin?” Solomon called her name and she immediately straightened feeling the fire from his waiting eyes. Tara wiped her eyes. She proceeded as instructed and inserted the needle into Gianna’s vein, releasing the sedative. “Give us the room.” Solomon then told everyone. 

“I’m sorry…” Tara caressed Gianna’s forehead tenderly. “I’m so sorry…” She suspected Gianna didn’t hear her words. The sedative was a fast-acting one. Gianna’s head lulled to the side; her eyes rolled back as heavy eyelids closed. 

“That will be all right now, Dr. Goodwin.” Tara nearly jumped out of her skin when Solomon touched her shoulder. It wasn’t because he scared her. It was because the man had forced her to commit an unspeakable deed against her friend. She cursed Solomon’s name inside her head. Tara grabbed his hand and removed it from her shoulder. She didn’t want a man like Solomon touching her. “Do we have a problem?” Solomon hovered over Tara. His eyebrow raised and a foul glower in his eyes. “If we do, I’ll happily accept a verbal resignation right now on the spot.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Tara replied. Solomon caught a hint of attitude in her tone. He ignored it…that time. 

“Good. You may leave for the day.” He directed at the door with an open hand. Tara looked back at Gianna one last time. The sedative had finally taken full affect. She was out cold. Only the sounds of her breathing warded off the heavy silence in the room. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow…Mr. Hightower.” The doctor collected her belongings and left. 

Solomon locked the door behind so no one would disturb the rest of his visit with Gianna. He returned to Gianna’s bedside and pulled the blankets over her sleeping form. Solomon moved to his knees. He brought Gianna’s hand to his forehead and wept over the guilt of his actions. If his beloved Josie had been watching him, Solomon knew the woman was cutting a fool over his crime against Gianna. Even so, Solomon was unapologetic. Just like he wouldn’t apologize for not interring Apollo with his mother. 

Beyond the window’s barrier, the Bound Man swayed back and forth in the breeze of the dwindling afternoon, observing Solomon as It always did. 

In grim silence. 

Author's Note: Another possible hiatus with this series for a little bit. My mind isn't entirely made up, but I'll play it by day.