THE AGGRESSIVE WEATHER SLAPPED US FROM RIGHT TO LEFT, forcing us to seek refuge inside my car. The moment the doors closed, we were vacuum packed with high pressure on our bodies. We remained still. Not even my tongue moved in the attempt of trying to convince him. But the acknowledgment of having turned his son into an unwilling killer was an oppressive burden on him.
The only sound that had snuck inside the car with us was his breathing. Sometimes it was more agitated. Sometimes he could control it to the point of killing it. I needed that murderous side of him. The grieving lover and father full of sorrow were of no use to me.
After the initial shock, I could barely feel any sympathy for this being. It had been an unfortunate situation, no question about it. But the effects of their actions had been monstrous and they still crawled the earth. The biggest consequence could not control his own existence, and had a hound dog pushing his wheelchair and licking his hand to make him feel better. I didn’t know how, but Marlon knew.
They had tampered with nature and now nature was tampering with us, rocking the car with its invisible hand, turning me into the cradle partner of Death. Adora and Piotr had tried to build a life for themselves and in the process, six lives were destroyed. Let me rephrase that: five lives and one death. One came back from the underworld. The other gave birth to the spawn of Death’s helper only to leave him alone. A third couldn’t die. And the last one couldn’t stop dying. Brilliant plan.
And Greta, with her suffocated maternal feelings narrowing her life.
And Emily.
In the meantime, they had found the courage to have portraits made of their unnatural family. Why on earth Frederick hadn’t burned those paintings was beyond me. No, no pity for the man crying next to me. The sobbing got louder until it turned into a tantrum in full scream mode. I let him kick the door and punch the dashboard. Then, Chichikov proceeded to slap himself.
When all the rage was exhausted out of him, he produced a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his red face. After regaining composure as much as possible, he put his hat back on and stared out the window. Chichikov could have darted right there, but he didn’t. I assumed we were ready for departure.
Like acceptance, the road to redemption is also a silent one. Throughout the ride, my mind had been unable to fully grasp this story. Hugh’s parents had been murderers, the type of criminals I could not put away. How was justice ever to be served? Had it already been delivered by Death? As if bringing Frederick back from the grave and banishing those who were not supposed to be here hadn’t been enough, Death punished Hugh as well. Father and son, two ends of the same rope I had to knot together.
When the highway started to touch the side of Lord Hurlingthon’s property, I saw Chichikov getting tense. The strain on his body was so intense he seemed close to breaking. His hand clasped the edge of the seat, and he didn’t let go of it until I parked in front of the main house. For a while, neither of us dared to break the seal of our vacuum packed container. And it was not my decision when penance should start. I could not force that man to meet the son made out of his own flesh and the victim of his own wrongdoing.
With his refined nose, Marlon had picked up our scent and opened the front door. He could have been an excellent Grim Reaper. He stood by the car, not a sound or a complaint coming out of him. The dark night was upon us, and the life of the day was coming to an obvious end. Piotr didn’t acknowledge Marlon’s stiff presence, he was too busy swimming the deep waters of his never ending guilt. The waves of these waters were hitting him hard, making it difficult for him to breathe. But once again, he lost the fight. Slowly opening his fist and releasing the seat, he drowned in atonement.
The car door was cracked open and the world entered. Piotr leaned against the vehicle. He was nothing but a corrupt body with empty eyes. He inspected Marlon from the ground up and back.
“Are you a Lermontov?”
Marlon greeted him with a glacial look and an affirmative answer.
“But it isn’t you.”
I was at the other side of the car. We had left the storm in the cemetery and at the mansion, an icy calm was embracing us. It was the kind of weather that kills all the sounds of the night. No stars, only a feeble moon.
“What is it, Chichikov?”
I circled the car and joined the fruitless meeting of two dead bodies. A cry of horror ran free from Marlon’s mouth and crashed against the solid night around us. He had recognized Piotr.
“I’m sorry, but Lord Hurlingthon is asleep. You cannot come in, sir.”
Marlon knew. I should’ve squeezed his chicken-neck when I had had the chance. I repeated my question to Piotr.
“A while back, when we were reaching this land, I picked up the scent again. It’s stronger now…I hoped it would be from him.”
That’s why he had clutched the seat with rigid desperation. That improvised triangle of death’s dealers at the entrance of the main house had to be broken. I couldn’t care less for Marlon’s stiff presence, but I needed to know.
“How did you find out, Marlon?”
He rested his droopy eyes on my face and failed to come up with a lie. Spirals of terror were forming around his pupils, although his facial expression was completely unaware of the emotions filling his eyes. Even at that moment, he was still wearing a mask.
“You know this is Piotr Chichikov.” I forced myself on his stony existence by taking a few steps forward, placing myself between the two sides of the past. “You know this is your master’s father. You know Lord Hurlingthon is no ‘Lord’ at all!”
“Shut your mouth, you filthy commoner!” His guttural shout was surprising for a man his age. It sounded as if it had been repressed for years. “You are not allowed to speak his name, you middle-class, greasy intent of a man!! And this–this...” he was going all out now. I had started to believe his rage would kill him “…this unnatural, greedy, selfish monstrosity cannot enter this house! Over my dead body, you hear me?! I made a promise and I will keep it!”
Marlon had leaned so close to me to deliver this threat that I could smell his deadly breath. I pushed him back, trying to settle the mood. One murder a night, please. I can’t deal with more than one murder a night.
Piotr stared at him over my shoulder without fully engaging in the situation. He had heard the words, but there was no comeback on his part. I apologized to Marlon and instructed Piotr to follow me into the house. He acted like a puppet, with no voice of his own. Marlon tailed us fruitlessly, attempting to stop our solid march. When he realized he would not be able to do it on his own, his cries for Lucy, Harriet and every single person in the property almost woke up the house itself. I heard them shuffling their feet and running, turning lights on and bumping into furniture. All the women were trying to find him and see what was going on.
I came to a stop in the middle of the staircase and turned back to Marlon. His desperation was so heart breaking. I could not bear the thought of him believing I had violated his rights, his secrets, and his life. I approached him and asked him to calm down. He shrugged me off and laboriously sat down on the first steps of the stairs.
“This isn’t right. This isn’t right,” he kept repeating, as the women were finding their way into the room. They changed their expression from alarm to amazement when, in their search, they discovered this elderly man sobbing the future death of his beloved master. The extinction of a promise that had been made centuries ago.
“Every member of my family has vowed to keep the Hurlingthons’ secret. It’s a tradition. It’s our...it’s my duty. Each time a Lermontov was old enough to start helping the family, before you could even carry a tray or deliver a message, the story was told and you were sworn to secrecy. You are making me betray myself!! You despicable, greedy worm!”
“I pity you, Marlon. But I cannot satisfy your selfish desire. Lord Hurlingthon must know the truth because he craves it. Because he has been looking for it for centuries. If you love him so, how could you keep quiet all these years? Why did
n’t you help me? Why did you prevent me from entering the guesthouse?”
Two of the maids, Harriet and one of the young girls, helped him to his feet. Marlon caught me, as tight as he could, by the sleeve of my raincoat and looked at me dead in the eye.
“Did you not hear a word I just said, you imbecile?! ‘Tradition’?! ‘Manners’?! ‘Duty’?! Does that mean anything to you? I have no idea what’s inside that house, nor do I care! But I was told that, for the safety of my family, it was meant to be locked permanently. Lord Hurlingthon was not allowed inside, why should you? You’re a pathetic impression of a detective!”
The women realized he was getting out of hand and tried to restrain him. Quite frankly, if it had been anyone else, I would have knocked him unconscious before we even entered the house. But it wasn’t right. I understood he wasn’t insulting me. He was lashing out at the criminals in love who had imposed such horrific situation upon a person close to his heart. And his next and final remark reassured my assumption.
“I would never help you destroy my family.”
I was taking his family away from him. From that day on, and solely on my account, Marlon would be an eighty-three-year-old orphan. I was removing from his grasp everything that mattered or had any value to him. And the worst part was, that it was the right thing to do. Balance had to return to nature. Hugh was overwhelmed with pain and I could relieve him. I had signed on for this. I would see it through. No room for incomplete jobs here. That situation was coming to a full circle, regardless of the pain it could inflict.
I apologized to Marlon once more and went upstairs.
Piotr Chichikov had followed his son’s slipstream and was now staring at his bedroom door, not moving an inch. He was about to see his son after two hundred and twelve years. The hesitation and fear made him shiver. Meeting a son you believed dead must be the most frightening experience one can encounter. But I still believed this man was a murderer and had managed to throw away two different opportunities to make amends. This time, I would make sure he seized it.
“Is it here?” I whispered as if it actually mattered.
Piotr nodded and rested his forehead against the door. I asked him if he was planning to go inside and whether he wanted me to introduce him. Hugh was unable to handle himself. If a complete stranger woke him up in the middle of the night, it would unsettle him. There was no need to add more pain to the situation.
“Does my son really need to know the truth? Does he need to know what his mother and I did? Can I just walk in and do it while he sleeps?”
I wasn’t expecting him to ask for my opinion. I wavered through a number of possible answers. After all, despite how repulsive I had found his actions to be, he was serving his time.
And there were other things to be considered. Lord Hurlingthon had hired me to discover why he couldn’t die. There had been also an unspoken request on his part for me to find out a way for him to stop existing. But the explicit agreement about telling him the reasons behind his condition had not taken into account the possibility of destroying the entire conception he had held about his family. Mostly, this happened because I had refused to believe such atrocities were possible. And also, my imagination was atrophied with the reality I was forced to digest every day.
That question, the constant doubt about the exact location of the limit of truth, where it began and where it ended, had haunted me throughout the entire case. Truth is always such a shady rock. Should I put pressure on it and make a diamond out of it? Should I let it be because it is the way it was created?
“I think...I believe not saying anything is wrong. That is simply not the way to honor the love you and Adora shared. And...and if you wish to put this to rest, it is of great importance that you speak up. You told me Hugh was the result of all the love you had for each other. And yes, it’s a love gone sour. But you can’t dismiss this opportunity because you’re scared. When you talk to Hugh, you will be speaking for Adora and for yourself. Surely you cannot deny her that possibility.”
He took a few steps back. Now, his head was hanging in the emptiness of the solitary corridor.
“As for Hugh...I don’t think your son needs to know the truth. I think he needs to hear a truth.”
Chichikov motioned his hand, asking me to enter the room and introduce him to his strange son. I knocked the door and let myself in. As calmly as I could manage, I woke Lord Hurlingthon up. I told him who I was, and that I had made an incredible breakthrough which couldn’t wait until Monday. He asked about Marlon and I replied he was on his way up. But before, he needed to meet someone. This someone would help him die. I also explained to him that whenever he felt ready, his lifelong search would come to an end.
“Not yet. I need Marlon with me,” he replied with his breakable voice, thinner than ever.
When I stepped into the hallway once again, I found them waiting for me. Marlon, a hound dog until the end. And Piotr, the father who would deliver the infamous end.
Once inside the bedroom, the valet took his place next to his master and they exchanged a few words. Piotr and I stood at the foot of the bed.
“You need to go to Alexis, my friend.”
“He broke the family tradition, sir. I can’t.”
“This tradition dies with me today. There’s no point in any more pain. I won’t drag you to the grave with me. Don’t stay alone, you hear me?”
Marlon nodded, and even if Lord Hurlingthon couldn’t see him, he knew his friend would obey. One last ‘thank you’ was exchanged, and the ceremony was bound to start. No use stopping the tide.
“Hugh, my name is Piotr Chichikov and I am your fa...” A dreadful look came from Marlon. He was pleading. “I’m your father’s friend…Yes, I was a very close friend of your father. And of your mother, too. I knew them very well and–I’m sorry you had to go through this...I really am. They loved you very much. It burns deeply in me you could not share time with them, but...If it is of any consolation, they always planned to raise you together. Death–Death didn’t allow it. But nonetheless, it had been their original purpose. They had no idea how your life would turn out to be. If they had–I…”
Piotr was breaking up, so I stepped in. I let Lord Hurlingthon know that I had found out that his father was extremely proud of him, and he had accomplished his goal of getting his acceptance. Once Chichikov regained his composure, his son addressed him for the first time in centuries.
“Do you know what’s wrong with me?”
“Your father and I...We knew each other because we both had made deals with Death to–to obtain improvements in our lives. In your father’s case, this agreement caused him to have a child that can’t die.”
“Has this happened to you, too?”
Piotr eyes were flooded with salty answers he couldn’t deliver.
“Yes, I too have a son in your condition. And I’m going to help him.”
“But shouldn’t you be dead, like my father?”
“My deal with Death led me to work for her. And that’s the reason why I’m here.”
I asked Lord Hurlingthon if he was ready. His affirmative answer was followed by an explanation from his father, telling him he only had to close his eyes and he would start to feel calm. Piotr lay next to his son and placed his hand on Hugh’s cheek.
“Just let the relief wash over you, my boy,” he whispered.
Piotr pursed his lips together and blew tenderly over his son’s head. Then, he kissed him on the forehead. Before my bare eyes, in less than it took me to blink away a tear, they had turned to ashes. Two piles of gray dust on the bed were all that was left of them.
And, who could have guessed that the crumbs of that family were the most fertile place in that entire land? Gardenias sprung out of them. They grew and grew until they took over the bed, the branches stretching and twisting themselves round the four-poster bed. The rancid smell of overused bodies was let out by the blooming vines that broke the windows and entered to flood us with their loving presence.
The limbs, loaded with white flowers, were also letting themselves in through the door, tearing the carpet and lifting the wooden floor.
The stampede of gardenias coming from the ashes forced us to leave the room to avoid being swallowed by this wild nature. I had to aid Marlon. His newly imposed freedom was still wrapped up in shock. He could barely shuffle his feet, let alone lift them. As we rushed through the hallways, we could see the flowing river of gardenias creeping up the walls, rapidly taking over the ceilings and rooms. Roots and branches. Leaves and flowers. They all sprung out in an uncoordinated symphony and every note had to be dodged if you didn’t want to fall prisoner to its music. It wasn’t a violent reaction, but an overwhelming process that would not slow down for anyone.
The gardenias would rule the house now.
We took the elevator and met the four women at the front of the mansion. The thrilling sound of breaking life had been awaited by those walls. Everything was covered in white, from the staircase to the barren moor it once was. The front of the construction was upholstered in riveting gardenias.
I ran to the back of the mansion. The potent ramifications of this double death had opened the guesthouse and let all its ghosts out. A limb had crawled up the wall behind the large family painting and broke through the canvas, only to embellish it with its blossoms.
The glass garden was now nothing but a bold iron structure. The glass walls had been shattered to pieces. Everything was a white sea of flourishing wilderness. The dry lake was now refilled with blooms, and the dying tree had blossomed into countless pure white clusters. The gardenias had reached the swing to tear its chains out, leaving the marble seat laying on the floor, only to be devoured by the same flowers.
This was Adora. She was finally embracing her family and nurturing them into a beacon in the deep night.
When I returned to the front of the house, someone had ventured inside to bring Marlon a chair. He called me aside while he reached into his right pocket. The old man extended an envelope to me. It was sealed with the red wax and the H imprinted on it. But this time it was a plain, brand new envelope.
“Thank you,” was all he said.
No looking at me. No screaming. No crying. Just his regular marble mask.
It was my paycheck.
As I said my goodbyes with a silent head movement, barely noticeable in the middle of a night now filled with stars, I heard Lucy one last time.
“Mr. Marlon, maybe it’s time for a new tradition.”
Her never-touching lips had proved her smarter than the rest of us with our tightly closed mouths.
Epilogue