R3 (History Plays, Book 7)

25: to try if thou be current gold indeed

Buckingham

The Christmas holiday cannot draw quick enough. For the first time in my life I'm glad of the week break from hockey. My team is immeasurably divided. I'm cross that suddenly, the chaos that follows my life has followed me to the rink as well. My home is never peace, the ice was once was and now it is not either.
At least Richard's home is moderately quiet. His brother's death and subsequent disinheritance leads to the entire property passing to Richard's name along with his mother's. His mother wants him out of it of course and he her, but for the moment they have mostly divided up the house evenly between them. Him having the first floor, her the second, with Lizzie and the boys, who still reside here most of the time.
"I'm thinking I'll get Richmond off the team, it's too much trouble now, but the devil of it is half of them support him," I sigh, lying backward on an ottoman. Richard is working on his laptop, I'm sure he explained on what.
"I'll have him removed for you," he says, coolly.
"No, don't—," not in your way. Heavens, he'd be killed. "It's fine. I'm just thinking. I'll probably go skate." I think better on the ice. I get up to go and find my skates. I dropped them by the door I think.
"I will, ruin his scholarship if you like," he says, "He's quit letting me take his homework since I bit his face off, but I can still ruin his grades."
"I don't want that, I'm only thinking," I say, coming back to lean over the sofa.
"It's up to you," he shrugs lazily, shifting a bit on the pillows.
There are several resounding thuds upstairs, followed by music from the TV. The boys watching little kid shows no doubt.
Richard makes a guttural growl.
"Come watch me skate," I say, knowing fully well he's annoyed by his family members.
"I'd sooner have a quiet house," he says.
"Well, you don't," I sigh, rubbing my face.
"You said anything."
"What?" I frown.
"You said you will do anything for me," he says, cocking his head.
"Yes, I will," I regret the words the moment they pass my lips.
"Well, I want a quiet house."
"Yes and----? You want me to go and tell them off if so tell me?" I sigh, not in the mood for his tricks.
"I want a permanent quiet house," he says.
"What are you talking about?"
"I am saying I wish the bastards dead," he says, voice poison. "And suddenly."
"You can wish that," I say, my blood going cold. They're kids. They're little kids. He wouldn't. He would. Oh fuck. He would.
"That's not answer. Will you kill them for me?" he asks.
"Let me think about it," I say, backing away, "I'll come back with an answer."
"Do," he says, not looking at me but chewing his lip.
I bolt.

Richard

He's not doing it. Him as well? He won't do it for me. He won't do anything for me he isn't loyal to me.
I find my cell phone in my pockets.
"Tyrell? I have a favor to ask of you."

Buckingham

By the time I get to the rink my hands are sweating.
This should be an easy answer.
Why the fuck isn't this an easy answer?
He's my only friend. My best friend. The only person---it is he and I. That's it. Nobody else. But what is he asking of me? Why would he ask me to kill them? Personally, me? Why? Is it a prank? A trick? Why do I have to keep proving my love to him?
And what will it mean if I don't? And worse what will it mean if I do?
I'm just spinning around center ice, hands on my head.
What happens then? I kill them? Then what? He finally lets me in he finally loves me he finally trusts me? My hands are that bloodied, the death of children. Innocent. Children. And then what? Peace forever. What world do I have left to live in what world is left there for me?
And what do I imagine will happen then? Do I think that he'll finally admit he loves me? That we'll be happy then? That we'll escape that we'll get away and live happily ever after?
And what if I refuse? He knows too much, now my life is---so—so cheap. Not just because I don't know how to live it without him in it.
I lie down on the ice the cold on my back, and stare at the ceiling. I don't know. I don't know and I hate that I don't know. Killing children. An easy, easy answer that answer is supposed to be no. Yet I do value his love beyond their lives and I know how wrong that is.
I sit up, spinning myself slowly. What world is this? Where did we go wrong? I thought we were doing what was right? I thought we were supposed to be the heroes or our own day if no one else's. Is that what it means? Becoming a villain to all others is that the only way to achieve my own heroism?
And what am I supposed to tell him? I already left; he'll be angry. What do I do? And how do I do it? Cut their throats? Drown them? Too easy and yet so terribly hard. And I say yes and he laughs and I was willing to do that? And I say no and he glares and then my life is over with that look? My heart is already done by him asking this. It was a test of my love already and I am failing miserable and he has failed by asking it of me.
"Are you all right, kid?" Coach Bill is in the box, watching me.
"I'm thinking about lines," I say, quietly, realizing there are tears on my face, "And that I don't have any."

Richmond

Winter break is going okay. I guess. There's less cult bullshit and more me crying from pain as I spend hours trying not to take painkillers so there's that.
I am re-bracing my arm (which at this point is completely black and blue) and hiding in my room in general. I'm at my grandparent's condo. My mother is coming to pick me up for Christmas in a couple of days so that'll be fun to hide my injuries. That'll be a nice little holiday activity for me. They all wonder why the bandage on my cheek hasn't come off yet well because it's a barely healed huge somewhat infected scar that's why.
"Henry---its one of your friends," my grandmother calls. That means she left someone standing at the door.
"Blunt I told you—Liz?" I stop, surprised when I find her standing there in the doorway, her red peacoat still flecked with snow.
"Um—I'm sorry," she takes a deep breath. "My little brothers are missing I didn't---I didn't know who to call and I was scared you wouldn't pick up the phone."
"What happened---- what do you mean?" I wouldn't have picked up the phone.
"Earlier today, apparently, one of Richard's friends—Tyrell-- came and picked them up to take them skating, except they aren't back yet and it's dark and my grandmother is claiming my mom took them but she wouldn't lie to me she didn't and—,"
"I'm coming, we're gonna go look," I say, grabbing my jacket to put on over my Bards hoodie, "Come on. I'll drive with you."
"Thank you, I just—"
"No, don't do it alone," I say, at the time, I mean it as being facing Richard or his friends. I didn't mean looking for her brother's bodies. "Come on---grandma, I'm going out for a bit." I never come back.