A Dead Man

The Butler

He wished he never worked for the Ranhooks

But he’d never work anywhere else if he could

Sometimes he forgets about the life he had before working here

But he couldn’t really recall

His mother worked here first

She was a single mother, 

Sometimes, as John Ranhook would put it 

Too wrapped in her son, but regardless

A hard worker

He wished that he could remember her face a little better

Or her voice, or anything better

The only thing that he could recall wholeheartedly was her secret

And in turn, his as well

He remembers the late John Ranhook

He was a worse man than Oliver could ever be

That didn’t make Oliver any better, after all 

They had one too many similarities than he would have preferred

But the permanent scar that was visible on his arm

Was because of John, and the one that tried to heal it

Was Oliver, but he doesn’t remember, he blocked it out

The Ranhook family was filled with angry people

Arty saw pass down and down,

He saw it in Olive too, although not nearly as much

She was too scared to end up like him

That’s what she told him, last time they talked

When she was younger,

He remembers watching her go out to the pond 

The same pond that Oliver would go to

To blow off some steam

He wonders how different it would’ve been if he had tried

To help him a little,

Tell Oliver that someone understood

But he always assumed that

It wouldn’t so anything

They weren’t close and he couldn’t hope to be

Today, in the morning after the storm

He watched as Olive walked out into the trees

And he made the same mistake of waiting too long

And wondering if he should go out there

And later he would watch as the new hire, Amelia Brown

Walked out there to the same place

And he thought to himself, 

"Maybe he would be able to do more than just watch.”

He sighed, a sigh half filled with relief

And the other half filled with disappointment in himself

He walked inside, up the stairs where Oliver was found

Though his face would never show it

He could feel some loss for his boss

Even though he couldn’t be happier for Olive

And as he looked around the room

Thinking about the terrors that had taken place

And in the corner he spotted something

An interesting something, an incriminating something

He stepped towards a shining trinket

Something that only his years of experience could recognize

A shirt pin covered in blood

And it wasn’t Oliver Ranhook’s

But it didn’t make sense

___

The Butler had been in Oliver’s life for as long as he could remember

Arty was always in the background, silent and unassuming 

He always had information stacked up in boxes

Stored in his head like a library

He could pull information at the drop of a hat

The downside was that Arty always seemed a little 

In his own world, thinking and debating

Wondering if he should this at this time

Or that at that time

But he always thought about it too long

And the opportunity would pass by him so quickly

Oliver wish he had gotten out there more

He was gone for a month one time

After his mom died, he just needed a break

Something else to stop him from all that thinking

So he was to his maternal grandparents’ house in the city

He came back even more quiet than before

And he looked at Oliver just a little more differently

He stood next to Arty in the attic

Back in the same place as before

Step one

Underneath him the creaking wood 

With his body still outlined there

He could feel some magnetic

Beckoning him to get closer

Arty was looking down at something

Something that shook him to his very core

He could see the tremble in his hand

It was strange to see that he still tried to hide it

Even while he was alone

And when he moved his head to see what was there, 

Something within him broke a thousand times over

There a shirt pin sat,

It had hidden itself within a box in the corner

Hoping the right person would find it

And it had chosen Arty

Oliver could see the questions in his eyes

Racking up by the minute

What would happen if he was to call the police

Surely they would help

Wouldn’t they?

But what if they didn’t

“The truth will hurt, Oliver.” The whisper warned

“Are you sure that you want to know it?” the wail asked.

“What will you do when this house, 

filled with secrets, booze, and gnarled teeth spills?” The smooth questioned

“What will you do in the end?” The voices blended together in one big mass

But it wasn’t like the lion, instead it was one clear voice

One he heard before tragedy struck