Mira fled without further explanation. He tossed and writhed in bed, turning her final words inside out. They swam in his mind, meaningless yet ill-omened. Save him from what? Hormonal overload? Maybe Nate was right; it was better not to feel than be at the mercy of a rebellious adolescent body.
Nic wondered if such keen yearning was normal. Is that how it happened? Passion for her at the moment of contact devoured self-discipline, a ‘curse’ he’d never experienced. He was known for his stability and restraint. Strenuously overlooking the bizarre flight across his room served best.
Finally, despite the weariness, Nic could take it no more. His father hadn’t returned, which was weird. Retrieving a wayward teen from the house on the hill, even one as stubborn as Sam, should take less than an hour. He needed a distraction and visiting Nate would provide it even if it meant borrowing Hank’s rusted, exhaust-spewing, noise-polluting jalopy. Catching the bus after last night’s adventure appealed as much as a public declaration of blame. He pictured the busy-body little old ladies eyeing him reprovingly over enormous shopping bags.
He rolled over and dragged the blinds open to gauge the day. At the end of the drive, a procession of fancy cars queued bumper-to-bumper for the Arkady residence. Through grey drizzle it was more vehicles than Nic had ever seen along the lane. He watched for a while, speculating on the purpose of a Sunday morning convention. Unlikely to gain answers anytime soon, he gave up.
As soon as his feet hit the floor, Nic felt the envelope. Settling back under the covers, he tipped the contents over the quilt: newspaper clippings, photographs, a thick family biography and financial reports. The astounding history of the Arkady’s spread down the centuries and with it, an unsettling portrait of wealth beyond measure, philanthropy and upstanding citizenship too perfect to be real.
An ancestor possessed the uncanny ability to zero in on mineral-laden land. They owned a third of the planet’s gold and diamond mines. Lucrative manufacturing, vast holdings in property and other investments to fund a small nation rounded out the portfolio. Nic sat gobsmacked. The facts explained the outrageous generosity. Yet, their good fortune in accruing fortunes was tempered by recent family tragedy.
Anatoly’s sister, Lidya, Sasha’s mother, hung herself at the tender age of twenty three. Her five-year old son was alone in the house with the corpse for many hours, before a staff member discovered the body. Nic conceded it went some way to accounting for Sasha’s instability.
Anatoly’s parents disappeared in Egypt when he was only ten. In creepy symmetry, a number of aunts who shared names with the cats also vanished in their late teens. One, Katya, was implicated in the savage murder of her fiancée, before she too went missing. There was not enough evidence for an accusation, let alone a conviction. The crime remained unsolved.
He thumbed the scene report. The bedroom shots were particularly graphic and grisly. The guy had literally been torn apart, blood and gore painting ornate wallpaper and antiques in horror. Several internal organs were gone, presumed eaten. Rumours of cults and cannibalism forced what was left of the family into seclusion. Nobody had heard from them in years.
And now, they were in his backyard. Nic closed the document, replacing them in the envelope, appetite for breakfast evaporated. Unless one of the AWOL women came forward, Mira and Sasha were the final Arkady heirs. But there was so much to go around, more than could ever be spent in many lifetimes by a single person, no matter how greedy. Nic couldn’t fathom Sasha’s rivalry for the spoils, even if a genuine inheritor joined the line. Besides, as far as he could gather, they already owned every toy or object an avaricious heart desired.
It was definitely occasion to embrace the mundane. Nic rifled his bottom drawer for a couple of old ‘Sports Illustrated’ magazines to take to his friend. After hitting the jackpot with the latest edition, still in plastic, he went in search of Hank to request the keys to his heap. When had existence become so packed, Nic had no time to read something other than a text book? All the while in the back of his mind, an oft-quoted motive from his father cycled. People murdered for money; usually far less than the fabulous Arkady cache.