When The Reign Stops

Chapter Four

Beef ragu, dusted parmesan and red wine sauce was the final meal that Marie whipped up in the time she had. I ensured I apologised to the guests about her lack of preparation but was secretly pleased when no one seemed to mind other than Blake, who repeatedly pointed out that he rather expected a 'banquet' and 'a few more guests.'

"You must have so many connections Jade, now you have come into all this money. Why didn't you pretend to invite other guests to sit with us?"

"Pretend to invite?"

He gave me a look of pity before switching his attention to Grandfather who was still coughing in-between chewing.

"So Lawrence, what was my Annie like growing up?"

"I can't really answer that as I was hardly there when she was growing up."

Blake gave Annie a subtle look of annoyance before flashing a businessman smile at Grandfather.

"What about Jade? Maybe she had the privilege of your presence in her youth?"

"Not for long. Not that it mattered. Evelyn spent most of her time with Jade."

Annie shifted in her seat, not paying attention to the conversation at the mention of my name. Moments like these made me question how we drifted apart so much and became two such different people. Blake didn't make her happy. His money did. I could tell as soon as she stepped through the door, just as she could tell that my money didn't make me happy, but its security did. She wanted an outlet, a chance to be someone outside this family which is something Grandmother had never understood. She also never understood small talk, so I took a shallow breath and impatiently clicked my fingers.

"I'd like to make a toast. Marie pour the wine"

"To Grandmother."

"To Evelyn.

"To Mrs Westwick."

Thick, red wine spilled into our glasses, it's taste on our tongues before it had reached our mouths. I raised the glass to my lips, admiring this alcoholic sea and its sweet scarlet shore. Seconds later, clumps of foam started forming around Annie's mouth, consuming her cries while her eyes turned the colour of the poison she had just ingested. I turned to my Grandfather who clutched at his neck, softly at first and then desperately, clawing at the ooze that slid from his eyes and nose, his coughs satisfyingly silent. Then I grinned at Blake, relishing in the fact he had only a few seconds to enjoy his last banquet.

It had been Marie's idea to send the letters; hers again to write them in calligraphy similar to mine; my choice of wine. But my Grandmother's choice for us to test it on her. "The murder weapons must be efficient, and untraceable. Therefore, by experimenting on me, you will be able to test both of these factors." She had said exactly this, days after she was diagnosed with liver failure. Her dying wish was revenge, and she had known that neither Marie or I would be able to live without granting it. The test had been successful and so had my Grandmother's legacy. Delicately placing my wine glass on the table, I forced myself to look at Lawrence Westwick- my Grandfather- who had had affair after affair behind my Grandmother's back- and offered to bribe Marie for her secrecy each time she caught him the act. He had six teaspoons of poison in his wine glass. One for each affair. The poison was Fentanyl, to be exact, a popular poison used as rat killer in France many years ago. Forgotten but deadly. Annie caught my eyes next. Quite literally, for her eyes had bled out her skull and were etched down her blouse, her mouth open and a mess of pink lipstick and foam and spit. Even in death she looked as if she had to have the last word. She had made the mistake of detaching herself from the family- forgetting her loyalty and her Westwick ties. Marrying Blake, ignoring Grandmothers's advice, taking her for granted and leaving her when she most needed her which all cost her four spoons of Fentanyl as well as her life. Finally, Blake appeared to have fared the worst of three of them, despite having the least amount of poison. Three spoonfuls, one for each time he had stolen money from Grandmother's assets, under Annie's name. It seemed as if he had tried to get up from his chair during the overdose which resulted in his limbs being draped over the table in an unnatural, inhumane position, the lack of circulation was already turning him a pale purple.

Marie put the cork back in the wine as I began to eat my plate of food, empty and full at the sight before me. I had done what was asked of me. I had earned my Westwick title and done something that not many could. I had killed. This is what made me different from everyone else I knew- my loyalty, not my solidarity. All of the sudden my hand started to spasm uncontrollably and my eyes blurred and I could feel my pupils beginning to burn. My breathing rasped and I held my head to keep it from crashing on the table. The beef ragu in my stomach was like a stone. Blocking my airways and my sight until all I could see was Marie taking my plate in her careful hands, giving me that awful half smile as her midnight voice whispered.

"Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle Westwick. Que ce soit le dernier d'entre toi."