The summer rain was disgustingly, unnaturally warm. Stewart stood under the safety of the academy’s stone awning and watched the pitter-pattering torrent with disdain. His hands gripped his closed umbrella tightly, shaking the excess drops from its surface. The rain in the summer felt like being drenched in someone else’s sweat. He hated it almost as much as he hated the season itself. A bit further down the list of things he despised (but not much further down) was waiting. The combination of all three made him feel the vitriol rise in his throat like bile. He gritted his teeth together to keep from screaming.
His brother offered to pick him up at the end of the semester and take him home. A bit of brotherly bonding, as it were. Stewart regretted agreeing to it. Arthur was already half an hour late. Not that it mattered in the end. Even if he’d gotten here in a timely manner (which would have been uncharacteristic of him, Stewart didn’t know why he expected any better) he still wouldn’t have made it through the police barricade.
The sirens were blaring and drowning out the sound of the rain, the drab courtyard awash in blue and red relief. It felt as unnecessary as the rain. Did they really need this many people to capture a target like Whitaker Wesling? Stewart knew what he was accused of, but it still felt like overkill. Of course, he considered, it was probably more for the sensationalism from the press than anything else.
A group of officers finally marched out of the boy’s dorm. He couldn’t see into their midst, but he was sure that Whitaker was swarmed in the center. They wouldn’t leave without him.
All the way across the grassy plane of the courtyard, beyond the circling of police and barely visible through the curtain of downpour, were two other subjects of police and public interest. Stewart opened his umbrella again and let it shield him from the rain. He crossed the courtyard over to them, feeling the moisture seep into his socks. He shivered in disgust. Oh, the things he would do to sate his own curiosity.
“Mobius!” He called as he approached. The grass squished under his feet like a sopping cloth. His shoes were so wet already.
Mobius, big bulky, so-called “artistically gifted” Mobius, sneered at him. He had his arms protectively around his partner, blocking her from both Stewart and the procession.
“It’s just Mobi, Stewart.” He corrected as if it mattered. “What do you want?”
Stewart cocked his head over to the police, who still had yet to reach all their respective squad cars. They weren’t the type to resist a photo-op. Not when it was with someone from a family so important and yet who mattered so little.
“That a friend of y-yours?”
“Jesus, Stewart, are you for real?” Mobius snapped. “Fuck off!”
Stewart, unphased by this response, simply shrugged and stayed put. The rain continued to fall between them, blurring either of them from properly seeing the other and whatever expression they were making.
Finally, Mobius huffed angrily and broke the silence himself. “No one who tries to hurt Arabella is a friend of mine.”
The girl beside him flinched. She was mostly hidden by Mobius’s body, but Stewart knew her face well enough at this point that he didn’t need to see it. Delicate and bruised deep shades of purple and red. One of her arms was in a sling. He knew this because he kept up with the gossip and read the news. Given what happened, it could have been so much worse. She was lucky she was even alive.
“Not to mention w…w…w-what he did to Alec,” Stewart added, “allegedly.”
The girl let out a sob and folded herself as small as she could into Mobius’s wide, strong back. An understandable enough reaction, as far as Stewart was concerned. No one wanted to be reminded of the dead like that. Especially when the dead was a friend. Truthfully, he felt bad about doing it and would have preferred talking to Mobius alone. However, he wasn’t the type to pass up an opportunity when he saw one.
Mobius tightened his grip on Arabella’s shoulder.
“For someone who can’t even talk properly, you sure don’t know how to shut up.” He sneered, only to find his sharp words once again met with indifference. “Get out of here!”
As if on cue, a new and familiar vehicle cruised through the rain and squad cars. The car parked somewhere it knew better than to do, but given the circumstances took a chance. Out of the car stepped a familiar figure, trying to shield himself from the rain with one arm slung over his head. Finally, Arthur was here.
“Fine, but mark my words,” Stewart said, turning on his heel and fixing the lovers with one last calculating look, “this wh-whole thing’s fishy. And I think you know that.”
Arthur stood outside the car, eyes on Stewart the entire time as he was slowly drenched. The fact that he was willing and okay with getting so wet just proved to Stewart how different they both were despite their blood.
“Stewart!” Arthur greeted enthusiastically, holding one clammy hand out to him. Stewart reluctantly took the offered hand in his own. “How was school?”
Stewart said nothing and got in the car.
Arthur continued to prattle on, used to the lack of communication. “I made you some tea for the road. I don’t remember what kind you like, and the drive was long so it might be cold by now.”
Still not saying anything, Stewart picked up the travel mug indicated in the cupholder. He took a drink.
He gagged, quickly covering his mouth with his hand to try to mask it.
From the way his brother grimaced, Stewart knew he did a bad job hiding it. “That bad?”
“It’s pretty strong.” He admitted but didn’t reveal that it was also ice cold and incredibly bitter.
Arthur’s eyes widened as if struck by a realization.
“I forgot to take the tea bag out.” Arthur started the car, eyes fixed behind him as he backed out and tried not to hit the police. “You don’t have to drink it.”
Now that Stewart was aware of the taste, he was able to school his expression better. He picked up the mug and took another sip. It was vile.
“It’s fine, I’ll drink it.” He kept the cup in his hands in an attempt to warm it with his own body heat. “Thanks.”
“So,” Arthur began his question again, spurred on by the reminder that they would be on the road together for the next few hours, “how was school? Any fun classes? Make friends?”
Stewart drank more of the tea, trying to hide his annoyance at the questions. It wasn’t like he was a child.
Still, he couldn’t avoid answering altogether. “They made me take public speaking.”
Arthur grimaced in sympathy. “Ah, yeah. That was a required course when I went there, I think. I’m guessing it didn’t go well?”
Stewart fixed him with the kind of withering look that belonged solely to the disgruntled young adult.
“Sorry, that was a dumb question. That class was pass or fail when I took it, is it still?”
Stewart gritted his teeth. He hated talking about this. “I have to r…r…r-retake it next year.”
“I’m surprised they made you take it at all.” Arthur finally turned out of the school’s winding drive and onto the road. “They could at least grade you on a curve or something.”
There was a lot Stewart wanted to say in reply to that. A million things swarmed around inside the pool of his mind, all vying to have their chance at being spoken. Instead, he swallowed down all the burning thoughts and settled on a lukewarm “I don’t w…w-want special treatment.”
It wasn’t Stewart’s choice whether he received special treatment or not. It wasn’t what their father wanted for him. He didn’t want to draw any attention towards Stewart or his stutter at all. In his eyes, Stewart’s stuttering was a blight on the entire family and completely his own fault. It was a failing he was supposed to overcome by himself. If he requested special treatment or received help in any way, he would be met with nothing but cold disappointment from his father.
Silence fell in the car. There were miles and miles and miles of road left to cover. Literally and figuratively, this was going to be a long drive. As he continued to sip his awful tea (Earl Grey, he thought) and listened to the never-ending rain, Stewart considered filling up the silence himself. It had been awhile since he’d seen Arthur, it was only fair he asked about him, too.
On the other hand, Stewart also knew that asking was unnecessary. Out of all the Fultons, Arthur was the most open and talkative. He was a perfect contrast to Stewart’s cageyness. If Arthur had something he wanted to say, he wouldn’t hesitate. So, Stewart chose to say nothing and waited for his brother to make conversation instead.
It was only a few more miles before Arthur finally broke.
“Why were all those police at your school?”
That question must have been weighing on his mind since he’d gotten to the academy. The situation hadn’t been broken to the press yet- one of the many benefits of being a school for the disgustingly rich and privileged. Truthfully, Stewart was surprised Arthur waited so long to ask. He was probably afraid of the answer.
Stewart took another sip of his tea and shrugged as if it wasn’t important.
“There was a murder.” Then, as if it had slipped his mind he added, “And an assault.”
Arthur nodded, trying his best to appear calm as the information sunk in. From the way he was white-knuckling the steering wheel, Stewart knew better. “A murder.”
“Yes.” Stewart replied. “It’s fine, though. They caught the guy.”
“Oh. Well. That’s good.” Arthur took a deep, shaky breath to calm himself. “Who was it?”
“The victim?”
“The killer. The victim, too, though.”
He knew the question was coming. Of course it was, how could he not know? Still, he wished he could have avoided it. Not because he cared about either of them, but because they both had the kinds of names Stewart would inevitably stumble over.
“The killer was W…W…W…W-Whitaker,” he finally choked out, “Whitaker Wesling.”
In moments like that, he wondered if his brother kept count of the words he struggled with and how many times he stuttered before getting the whole word out. Their father used to do that before he decided Stewart was a waste of his time. It was only natural he entrusted the job to his beloved eldest son.
“Wesling, huh?” Arthur mused, frowning. “That’s too bad, they’re a good family. Any idea why he’d do that?”
If he was keeping track, he was doing a great job hiding it. “A girl, I think.”
“A girl?” His brother repeated, his face crinkling with annoyance. “That’s always the deal, isn’t it? Love or romance or whatever and then bam!”
He smacked the steering wheel for emphasis.
“Someone kills the other in a jealous rage.”
Stewart didn’t necessarily disagree, but this felt more like his brother had something he was secretly venting over. He just shrugged again.
“Alec R-Rafferty wasn't dating the girl, either. He just liked her, too. As for the girl, he pushed her down the stairs a few days ago,” he revealed, “they called it assault and not attempted murder because the girl still thought of him as a friend.”
“That’s awful!” From the distress straining his voice, Arthur meant it. “If that’s how things are there, I’m glad you don’t have friends.”
Stewart didn’t know whether to laugh or punch him. He sipped his tea. “Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
He did understand but chose not to continue the conversation any further. The car once again fell into stifling silence. Instead, Stewart stared out the window at the passing scenery.
There was still so much ground to cover.
Author's Note: Hello! This is my first attempt at posting a longer, ongoing piece on my site. I have a bit of the story already written out but most of it is still just kicking around in my head- by which I mean you'll be reading what boils down to the first draft fresh out of my brain lol. Anyway I know I posted some content warnings on the Story Directory but just to reiterate there are some serious topics depicted and discussed in this story, it is a murder mystery and the protagonist (Stewart) has an ability that lets him do time jump shenanigans but only at his own expense. I'm not going to claim that my descriptions of suicide, depression, or death in general are going to be very good or even handled perfectly but if there is anything that happens in the story that you think is poorly handled then please feel free to reach out to me through the comments or email or whatever you're comfortable with!
... also feel free to comment if you like it, too. Thank you!
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