When everyone finally dispersed from the table, the three of them remained separated for the remainder of the day. Despite everything, Stewart slept deeply that night. He was sure the same couldn’t be said for his brothers. Martin in particular seemed to take the news hard, Stewart doubted he slept a wink.
Stewart, hungry now that he was awake, forced himself to crawl out of bed. The sun was still rising, but already he could feel the oppressive humidity. What kind of damned climate were they living in that their summers were so hot and their winters so cold? Someday he would move somewhere the weather never changed.
Maybe he would go out and swim today to cool off. He should probably invite Arthur, too. The guy was so stressed, he needed a break from all the work that was forced on him. Martin he would leave at home. He seemed like he wanted some alone time.
The kitchen, unlike his bedroom, was blessedly cool. Stewart set about boiling a kettle of water on the stove while he perused the cabinets and fridge for food. There wasn’t much he could prepare quickly, so he settled for a tangerine he found. He was leaning against the counter and peeling it slowly when Martin shuffled in. He was still in his pajamas, which unlike Stewart, were actual clothes and not just his boxers (and a robe he’d tossed on for modesty). Even though he was in his pajamas, it was obvious he’d been up all night.
Stewart didn’t lift his head from his task. “Morning.”
Martin yawned in reply, stumbling his way around the kitchen until he found what he wanted. The pour over coffee maker and the grounds. Stewart watched him scoop mountains of it into the filter without comment. He ate a slice of his tangerine. It was sweet, and it left his fingers sticky.
The kettle of water Stewart was boiling was about ready. Martin shuffled past him, nearly tripping over his too-long pajama pants as he did so. He killed the heat on the stove and took it with him, Stewart watching on as he ate another slice of tangerine. Martin raised the kettle but paused before pouring it. He shot a bleary-eyed look at his brother.
“You were going to make coffee, right?”
He wasn’t. “Go ahead.”
Martin poured the water, and the coffee began its slow drip. Stewart peeled open another tangerine. This one was less sweet than the first.
When the coffee was finished, Martin slid a mug towards Stewart. Stewart nodded his thanks and then went to the fridge to get the milk. Martin grabbed the sugar from the cupboard, and Stewart hid his relief at the sight of it. The two prepared their drinks in silence. He nodded to Martin again once his coffee was an acceptable shade of khaki and was about to take his leave, but then his brother spoke again.
“What was he like?”
Stewart froze, his back to Martin. “Who?”
“You know who,” he said, “Alec Rafferty.”
Stewart turned around again, but Martin wasn’t looking at him. He was staring down into the depths of his own mug, idly stirring with a spoon.
“Diana and I… we had plans to hang out over the summer. We made them just before winter break. She wanted me to come over. Meet her family. Her brother. I… I can never do that now.”
Stewart was at a loss for what to say. Martin was clearly distraught. He hadn’t been there, but this hit him so much more than it had anyone else. He wanted to comfort him, or at least do something to make him feel better. The only problem was that even though he knew Alec Rafferty, he couldn’t say anything about him that Martin would want to hear.
“Alec was…” he hated that he had to wrack his brain for anything good to say, “smart. Goal oriented. H…h…h-he was social, really good at networking.”
Martin snorted derisively, eyes flashing up to meet his. “You didn’t really know him at all, did you?”
Stewart grimaced, the weight of his brother’s gaze searing into him. “Sorry.”
Martin drank his coffee and shook his head. “I should have known better than expect it from the likes of you. It’s fine.”
“I r-really am sorry.”
“I know,” Martin broke eye contact, turning his gaze back to his cup, “I can tell.”
The two didn’t speak again.
Three days passed before he was able to even be in the same room as Arthur. Arthur was a busy person these days, busier than Stewart had ever seen him. However, this was not an unexpected change. With their oldest being fully graduated and shown to be capable and responsible, the parents had left him in charge of affairs at home while they handled everything international. It was a hectic arrangement for Arthur at the moment since he was the sole person in charge while their parents were away, but once Martin graduated he would have some help and things would become more manageable.
Stewart would offer his own help, but he knew his parents would reject it.
The only time Stewart was ever able to catch Arthur was at meals, and even then the conversation was scant. On that third day, though, they both had time to sit down and eat together. It was only sandwiches, but they were both eating them slowly so they could savor what little time they had together.
“Oh!” Arthur suddenly sat up straight, as if a shock had gone through him. “I just remembered something!”
Stewart sighed at the interruption of their pleasant silence. “Can’t it wait til after lunch?”
“Relax, it’s not work or anything. It’s just I forgot to bring you your mail.” Arthur got up and headed into the other room, where there was a neat stack of mail piled on the counter. “You got something! There’s no return address on it, though.”
“There’s not?” Stewart took the envelope. It was a normal size, but whatever was inside clearly didn’t fill the whole space. “Odd.”
“You should open it right now and tell me what’s inside.”
Stewart set it on the table and went back to his sandwich. “If you were really that curious y…y…y-you should’ve opened it yourself.”
Arthur shot him a dirty look as he sat back at the table. “That’s illegal, Stewart.”
“Too bad, then.” Stewart shrugged. “Your loss.”
The letter went up to Stewart’s room with him. There, he was finally able to give it a good look without the curious, prying eyes of his brother. Just as Arthur said, there was no return address. What was written on it (his name) was in blocky capitals that listed towards the right. He didn’t recognize the handwriting. He opened it, using all the care he could not to tear the envelope.
Inside was a single notecard. On the notecard was a newspaper-clipped photograph of the convicted Whitaker Wesling, his blank gaze revealing nothing of his guilt or innocence. Beside the glued clipping were two simple words.
Maybe, Stewart thought, confronting Mobius in front of his girlfriend had been the right move, after all. Arabella had to have sent this. Who else would have? Even if people doubted Whitaker’s guilt, no one would ask him of all people to help.
Stewart flopped onto his bed with a sigh, notecard still in hand. As much as he'd love to help, he had no idea what she expected him to do. He had no proof, no evidence, to support him. All he had was a gut feeling, just a hunch that things weren’t right. Who would listen to him?
Stewart looked at the photo of Whitaker and felt the guilt pool in his stomach. His long, wavy hair was unkempt and loose, framing his soft-jawed face. Somehow, he looked so much younger in the photo. So much smaller. He didn’t look like he would survive life in prison.
Maybe if he’d voiced his thoughts before the conviction, Whitaker would have been found innocent. As things were now, he doubted he would be of much help to Whitaker or Arabella.
As things were now…
Arabella had no way of knowing the kind of things he was considering. Stewart never told anyone about it, because there was no need to, and even if he did, no one would believe him. Frankly, it was something he’d never intended on using again.
But if he truly wanted to help them, if he truly wanted to put Mobius behind bars… he didn’t see another option.
He didn’t like it, but the more he looked at Whitaker’s boyishly sullen face, he knew it was the right thing to do.
Arthur, being the oldest and already in charge of a good amount of family business, had a private bathroom attached to his room. The assumption between Stewart and Martin was that it was added both to show favoritism and also as a way to keep Arthur confined to his room and doing work as much as possible. He really only had to leave to eat.
Stewart needed something from that private bathroom. Something he couldn’t outright ask Arthur for. He would never give them, and for good reason.
For the past few years, Arthur experienced trouble sleeping, probably from all the added pressure and stress put on him by their parents. In order to get a good night’s sleep, he took prescription sleeping pills.
The bottle was located in the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror. Stewart felt that it was full, Arthur having just refilled it. Stewart felt another pang of guilt as he twisted the cap off and shook a handful into his palm. Arthur wouldn’t be sleeping well for awhile.
There was a cup by the edge of the sink. Stewart used his free hand to fill it. He was unable to take all the pills at once, so he dropped half of them into his mouth and choked them down with a swallow of lukewarm water. The first batch was still stuck in his throat when he tossed the rest in with them. It took all of his effort and a refill of the water to force them all down. He replaced the bottle in the medicine cabinet. The taste, bitter and chalky, coated everything from his tongue to his esophagus. The taste was nauseating, and he worried that if he didn’t clear it from his throat he would end up vomiting the pills back up despite all his efforts.
He filled the cup with water again.
“Stewart? What are you doing in here?”
Stewart jumped, dropping the cup into the sink. The water inside the cup splashed into the basin of the sink, and the water still running from the faucet cascaded off the side of the cup’s plastic surface.
Stewart cleared his throat, worrying something in his voice would give away what he’d done. “I w-was thirsty.”
He picked up the cup and refilled it. From the mirror he could see Arthur standing in the bathroom doorway, blocking any escape. Arthur’s arms were crossed over his chest, but there was a soft, slightly strained smile on his face. Their eyes locked, and Arthur tilted his head. Stewart lowered his eyes back to the sink. The cup was practically overflowing.
His excuse continued, “Your room’s closer than the kitchen.”
“That so?”
Arthur didn’t look like he believed him. Still, Stewart nodded once and drank his water.
“Did you want to talk, Stewart?”
Stewart nearly choked on his last swallow. The taste was finally cleared from his mouth. “About what?”
“Anything.” He took a step back, allowing Stewart more room. He could leave if he wanted. Arthur’s arms tightened around himself. “You can talk to me about anything.”
Stewart wanted to. Desperately wanted to, but he didn’t know what to say. What could he say?
“I opened that letter,” he settled on, “I didn’t like what was in it.”
“What was in it?” Arthur asked. His tone was quiet, lacking all the excitement from earlier that same day.
Stewart shook his head. “The contents w…w-were okay. It’s… I h-have… there’s something I need to do now. Because of it. I don’t want to.”
Stewart felt the heat prick his eyes and blinked rapidly. Why did Arthur have to be here now? He’d made his peace with this, he was reluctant but so sure of himself and his choice before Arthur came. Now, even if he changed his mind, it was too late. It was as good as done.
Arthur’s smile dropped. He was quieter now. “Is it something bad? Will you be okay?”
Stewart nodded, but it felt like a lie. Neither believed him.
“It’s alright,” he said, reassuring himself as much as he was Arthur, “I’ve done it before.”
“Okay,” Arthur tried to smile, but it came out a grimace, “but if you need anything, you can talk to me. You know that, right?”
Stewart nodded. “I know.”
He started to leave, brushing past Arthur and towards the door. When he reached out to open it, though, he paused. There was something caught in his throat. Not pills this time. Words. Things he had to say before he couldn’t anymore.
He almost said, “I love you.”
He almost said, “I’m sorry.”
All he managed was, “Goodnight.”
He wasn’t sure if it was the effects of the pills or just all in his head, but by the time he returned to his room, he was already feeling off. He was lightheaded and heavy-limbed, and filled with a suffocating sense of uncertainty. Good thing he was going to bed soon. This wasn’t a good state to be in.
Before he went to bed, he had just one more thing to do. In his closet was a garment bag, housing his best and most expensive suit. It was one he’d never worn because it was meant for fancier, celebratory occasions that he often wasn’t a part of. He removed it from the garment bag and tossed the clothes onto the floor. They didn’t matter.
He laid the garment bag open on his bed. It was about the length of him, perfect for what he needed. He climbed inside it. Zipping it closed again proved to be a difficult task, especially with how disoriented he was beginning to feel. Still, he managed it.
The air in the bag felt stale, and the confines of the plastic were claustrophobic. Stewart squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about it or what he was doing too much. His breathing was already becoming slow and deliberate. Something that took effort. His heartbeat was heavy, and, like his breathing, becoming slow.
He was asleep before it stopped.
Author's Note: And that's the end of this section! Hopefully this has left you decently intrigued for part 2 when we really start getting into stuff! Thank you for reading this far and if you liked it feel free to leave a comment or leave one if you don't like it too, I guess. I am open to constructive criticism!
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