Chapter 13- Still Lingering

Chapter 13- Still Lingering

                Hale hadn’t had time to elaborate on anything he had said. At almost that moment a flash had emanated from the cab and he had had enough of being followed for the night. The couple bade Katia a good evening as cheerfully as they could and waited for the valet to bring their car around.

                The two talked long into the night, but finally realized that until they could make sure that Princess didn’t step in to take Kellan’s side there was nothing they could do. And so life went on until one fateful evening.

                Hearing an odd cry, everyone in the house, including Jackson had rushed into Princess’ room to find her pleading with the grim reaper. She had lived quite a long life, nearing 100 years old.

                The Reaper had not listened to her pleas, and even Jackson’s ghost was unimpressed with his wife’s performance. Eventually, all that was left in the room were the three living souls and an urn containing Princess’ remains.

                “Oh my God,” Whitley wailed. “I’m finally going to get to sleep in that majestic bed! No more Cheeeeeeesseeheeheey!” Her sobs blended with the others’.

                Kellan, however, had made good note of her acceptance of the sleeping arrangements. He had plans of his own as to where he would now be sleeping.

                Kellan was a little surprised to feel a knot of fear as he entered the honeymoon suite of the house. Surely, he had no need to feel a little trepidation entering what he felt he could call his. After all, wouldn’t he own all of it shortly?

                Kellan had seen the grief on Hale’s face, and as he too was genuinely grieving their mother, he decided that he could wait just a little longer before putting his plan into action. He’d long been wondering just how Princess would react to what he would have to do, and had put things on hold until he could work that out. His hold up now was merely that grief could possibly distract him along the way. He could afford to make no mistakes.

                As he climbed into bed, Kellan sighed a little. On the inhale, he noted Whitley’s scent still faintly in the air. To him, it was a promise of the wonderful things that would shortly be coming his way. He would make his own way, just as his ancestors had before him.

                As he closed his eyes, preparing for sleep, Kellan whispered to the still lingering aroma.

                “Good night, my sweet. We’ll be joined soon enough. Only a few separated nights more, then will our union be one historians write about!”

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Hale and Whitley, however, were not willing to wait as long as Kellan was. They were more than willing to wait a day or so for the funeral to be over, but neither was comfortable with him in the house. When Whitley had discovered that Hale was already sleeping in their old bed, before the sheets had been changed even, Hale was more than ready to take Kellan down.

A few days later, Hale’s chance came.

Kellan was working on a painting he said was tribute to their mother. Whitley and Hale had also chosen occupation in the same room in order to keep an eye on him. His snide remarks to Hale were becoming meaner and more frequent. Hale had been secretly practicing everything he could to be ready for this moment for a few weeks now.

Kellan added a few more strokes to the picture, plucked it off the easel and hung it carefully on the wall to dry. Hale looked up in time to see Kellan turning from the now completed canvas.

“Finally finished?” Hale asked. He was hard pressed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but he wanted to provoke Kellan as innocently as possible.

Kellan’s face was absolutely blank as he turned toward Hale. He was fighting tears, thinking of this memorial to his mother he had just hung on the wall. The milky white magnolia bloom amongst a glaring, crimson bed of leaves; his mother’s purity standing out from his father’s carnal sins and the darkness it caused in her life.

At first, Kellan could hardly understand what he was hearing from his enemy’s mouth. Surely Hale wasn’t baiting him. But, how then, was he supposed to account for the almost defiant look on Hale’s face?

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” He tried to keep his voice under Whitley’s strumming, but his anger put much more force into his words than he had anticipated.

Hale relaxed his shoulders, leveling his gaze to meet Kellan’s glare evenly.

“It means: are you finished? I’ve been waiting for you to finish that so I can deal with you finally,” Hale said.

Whitley’s song became ever so slightly faster as all her nerves bunched and coiled, ready to spring should the need arise. He had become a far too dominant figure in her life. She was ready for this.

“Deal with me?” Hale’s voice was high pitched with anger. His face red, ears burning. The back of his neck was hot with the rage he felt. “I do not understand you. Surely you don’t have to deal with me brother?”

Kellan took a step closer to Hale.

“I’m tired of you trying to undermine me in my own house,” Hale told Kellan. “That’s right. My house,” he added, seeing the snarl forming in Kellan’s throat. “My house. My wife. My job. My business. My life. I want this over with. I want you out.”

Whitley had actually stopped playing. She was listening so hard, she thought her ears would burst.

“I propose we do this fairly,” Hale had raised his voice slightly hoping to exude some calm he didn’t really feel.

“Fairly,” Kellan spat. “Nothing with you has ever been done fairly.” His sneer rippled clear through him. “What do you propose that is fair between us?”

“A game,” Hale said, indicating the board in front of him. “A game of chess. Winner… well... the winner wins, I suppose.”

A cruel smile twisted Kellan’s features as he crossed the room and flung himself into the chair opposite Hale.

“Very well then,” Kellan grinned. “May the winner, win!”
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