Family Reunion (50 page)

Immediate tears sprang to her eyes as she looked up at Manny, who was holding the flowers out to her. Without saying a word he handed her a card but hung on to one end of it when she tried to take it from him.

Using it, he tugged her slowly toward him as he slowly bent down and gently kissed her lips, chuckling at the fruity taste of her from desert. His tongue entered her mouth and caressed all within, savoring her and the moment. Lena swayed towards him, her eyes rolled back and closed at the warm taste of him. Gently breaking the kiss, he rose much too soon for Lena, and laid another one to her brow above her eye.

Lena gasped and opened her eyes; he was walking away, still with not a word said between them. She wanted to call him back…so in love it made her chest ache. Resigned to the way it should be for now, she opened the note and read.

* * *

Clarence lay in his bed with his mind reeling in anger.
'Tomorrow morning, Maynard Webster! If she is not at my office first thing, I will raise the biggest stink you have ever smelled. Right on the front page, all of your sordid past will be published for all of New York to read!'
He glanced up at his desk at the far wall of his room, he'd written it out much better in anger than the version he gave Manny, and reclined again satisfied.

'You will test me Maynard… I know you will. What will you try? I wouldn't do it were I you. A man with your place in society cannot afford to be scorned. You'd be ruined…just give her to me. So simple… and you can keep your little bastards – at least you will have them. What do I care about you passing them off as white?'

" You’ll give me what I seek, or I swear when I get through with the name Webster-..." He began speaking aloud when suddenly he sucked in shocked, horrified from the feel of a hand swiftly covering his mouth. At the same time he could feel the sharp edge of a blade pressing firmly, dangerously, against his throat.

Fear swelled within him, choking him, the need to swallow was so powerful he whimpered, but the blade kept him from swallowing out of fear of being cut. He lay stiff and unmoving as saliva gathered in his mouth, he felt himself trying to breathe but even that was a frightening chore.

Not a word was said yet but he could feel the cold, hard, sharp steel right beneath his protruding Adams apple. He could hear the breathing of his tormentor. Winston whimpered again, unable to stop himself as the breathing seemed to deepen, growing louder as the seconds ticked by to torment him. His body began to tremble, no matter how still he tried to keep it as he waited.

The dark room that was once his comfortable domain was now his chamber of horror as the cool, deceptively calm night blew fresh breezes through his veranda French windows, the curtains waving in and falling with each new gust. His bedroom was on the second level in his apartment, and he could not imagine in his state of terror who might have been able to so quietly creep up and in without him hearing a sound. The fact was, someone had and that someone had the patience to hold himself in silence, except for his breathing, waiting until the precise and best moment to continue his onslaught of torture.

The silence swelled, and the need to breathe and swallow normally was strangling Clarence, the sweat began running down his nose, threatening to fall into his widened eyes. He had to swallow or choke on his own saliva, and gulped feeling his Adams apple scrap against the blade, nicking him. Again he whimpered, he wanted to blink, he needed to. To cry out, to leap and run but paralyzing fear kept him immobile.

Then it came, a voice, a voice that spoke slow, low and rasping, deep
and hard, sending shivers down his spine to the very core of his being.

"Clarence...Winston...you have been ... a busy man. Too busy Clarence...busy in things ... not concerning you. Why Clarence? Why? Hmmm, tsk tsk tsk Clarence. It's a shame, know why? A shame … because, well ...Clarence Winston...you have allowed your-self the wrong… delusion. What – is – that – smell? Inhale Clarence … Winston. Smell that? It's most ... offensive ... too offensive… this smell of… betrayal. Know you…of what…I speak…Clarence? No? No worries…no…more…worries."

Silence came again. It lasted long enough to make Clarence start to weep. "Please…"

"Shhh … I'm thinking Clarence Winston ... I'm thinking greed; it is a vile … loathsome … ugly …thing. I smell it… smell it on you - now. We – yes… we… are here… to help rid you of this…nauseating sickness. There is a way... to rid you of such, numbing nasty – ailments – one way is to hm? Ah, the fle-s-s-sh. Yes, such as yours ... your flesh Clarence Winston, your soul ... we will rid you of it. I will tell you of our ways Clarence Winston ... one way... is to burn ... and burn ... and burn the flesh, until it sizz-zles and boils with the heat, ridding all need for greed from you, yes, that is one.”

“
I assure you, any such traces of greed…once dealt with in such a manner, quickly rids all. Ohhh what a stench Clarence Winston ... have you ever ... smelled burning flesh? Especially your own as it - quivers ... melts ... and draws up ... into tight ... deteriorating, peeling - wait… let us try it… let us… Clarence …let us…"

Just then he heard a strike of flints and in the dark room a flame caught a hold of something, Clarence's eyes widened so they felt they would pop out of their sockets. "Noooo." He moaned gasping, fighting back sobbing. The glowing light slowly made its way closer from across the room.

Now he knew there was more than one. The popping fire finally stopped and hovered above his bed. The flame sizzled as it was brought closer and closer to him. Clarence closed his eyes and began weeping in earnest.

"Can you ... feel the heat yet ...Clarence Winston ... how close ... must the heat come ... before you feel it? How close Clarence...how close?"

Clarence could feel the heat coming closer to his face and he swallowed whimpering as more sweat broke upon the service of his skin and ran.

"I don't know Clarence… I don't know…perhaps you are… hm? One who has a liking to fire ... maybe ... maybe your skin... Clarence Winston ... is too tough to burn ... on the surface... maybe?”

“
It should first, be opened ... maybe, remove it first … peel it slowly from your body… peel it back while you scream …then…maybe… the fire."

The fire was lifted away, not far…but the ghastly voice remained.

"Please!" Clarence rasped and swallowed.

"Please what? Clarence Winston ... please peel you first ... have you ever wondered ...Clarence Winston? Would it be ... so painful ... you could always… faint ...Clarence Winston? Hope, pray, for - death ... death! Ever wondered ...how...you...might... die? I bet…I know…I bet; I have seen many die ... many Clarence Winston. I have even seen a man die ... choking ... choking ... choking Clarence...on...his...own privates. You see… right after… I cut them off… his testicles … I forced ... them both … down - his - throat! Imagine that ...Clarence Winston ... choking ... choking on your own, bloody, balls ... why are you shaking? Why ...Clarence? Don't shake so, I could very well slip and cut your throat -...ooops...like that...shit...knifes sharp ... don't worry, you'll stop bleeding ... after a while. Aaah Clarence...I have become, a man ...undecided...I cannot decide ... how I would better see you die ... should you ... burn, after being ... skinned ... or ... should you choke to death ... oh well, I for now, cannot make up my mind. Until I do, you shall come with me ... Clarence Winston."

"While I am deciding ... you can decide also, how you should go ... skinned and burned... or ... choking ... think about it Clarence Winston ... think about it."

Clarence was shaking so much with terror he could not feel his body being wrapped tightly in his own sheet with his arms down by his side. To his further humiliation, he felt the warm release of his urine. After being tied in the unmoving mummy position, he was gagged and blindfolded and covered in a black cloak. "Ah Shit!"

"What?" He vaguely heard.

"He's pissed himself!"

"No matter…I have it." They whispered, Clarence whimpered and cried out from his gag. "Save death for later Clarence, don't die now." He heard the warning, then the popping sound of something being burned. He was easily lifted from his bed and slung over a powerful shoulder.

"Shit! His piss is on me! Bastard!" He heard someone grumble, then felt himself going down, with mumbled talk going on around him, then his body bounced and jarred as he was carried a distance. He heard a door open, and was thrust inside a coach to the floor, the door then slammed shut. The coach tilted, righted, the snap of reigns, and then he began to rock; every now and then he would glide up against something that felt to be another man tied beside him.

With all the
sounds going on around him, his main thought was the gruesome end that was his fate, and his tragic error in underestimating … one …Maynard Ramsey Webster.

Lena woke and stretched as the bright sun filtered through her window. A smile was instantly upon her face. She could hear her grandchildren being shushed not to wake her. She turned her head looking towards the door and then up at the bedside table to see the time, immediately noticing the two rectangular square boxes of blue velvet sitting there. Smiling she rolled over reaching for them and gazed in wonder opening each. Inside the first box was the ruby and emerald necklace, in the other, were the matching earbobs she'd turned down the day before. She picked up the folded piece of paper that was beneath them and read it.

* * *

Rory was a nervous wreck. After all, he knew he had prayed for this, for an identity, for a father and now he had one. Not any kind of father but a father who believed in making all that was wrong, right – right now!

Because he was a Webster, his father expected him to take on the name. Surely, with all things falling into place as he had wanted them meant the end to his insecurities. Far from it, all the time he had attended school; it was under the name Sinclair. All, who knew him, knew him as that.

How would it be explained that all of a sudden he was no longer
a Sinclair? Word would spread about in school to all those attending, speculation and theories would begin and the end result would no doubt be that he was an illegitimate just now being claimed by his true father.

They arrived early at the school, the wrought iron gate not yet open. With the morning cool, fresh and invigorating, Manny decided to step from the coach. He stood tall, dressed in his business attire of grey breeches with under-straps trapped beneath the insteps of his black polished calf boots. Reaching into the pocket of his silk, maroon waist-coat, he checked the time. His white shirt was startling bright and crisp, with matching grey, maroon and black ascot cravat. His jacket lay within the coach where Rory sat nervously, wearing his school uniform.

"You know, school semester will be over soon and we'll be leaving Sunday for Makia, can't we just leave things as they are until we return?" He asked, stepping from the coach.

"There is tuition to be paid for the remainder of this year, and the re-signing for next year, that is my responsibility to pay. I also need to make them aware of your true name."

Rory's stomach griped in fear,
'Didn't he understand what this would mean for him?'
"Well I guess while you are at it, telling them who I am, maybe you can enlighten them as to the woman who bore me as well!" He shot with angry impulsion.

"Let us be clear on something from the start Rory. Matters of life are difficult for most, for you I agree that it has been especially so, however, discernment and wisdom can help smooth out the bumps, such as in the case of me, your father. You watch your tone with me, I'm not to be mistaken for your mother, I will not tolerate it." Manny warned and continued. "Speaking of which, now that we're back together you will cease with your disrespect toward her. To be fair, I am willing to allow you time to adjust-…"