If We Survive The Night

The Will

Casey

The TV screen mounted over my bed has no sound, so I'm reading the news ticker when Mr. Collins walks into the room. He nods at me and pulls a chair toward my bed. In the three days I've spent in this hospital, he's visited me several times, so he acts quite at home. He was present during the interrogations, too. The cops acted hostile at first, but then, once Jen and Owen started talking, their attitudes began to change. The medical staff started smiling at me and asking if I wanted anything special for the next meal. The officer from behind my door who had accompanied me to all the tests and medical procedures, disappeared. I was no longer a suspect but a witness, as well as a victim, and everybody treated me accordingly.

"Hello there," Mr. Collins says, opening his briefcase on his big belly. "How're you feeling?" He shoots me a glance and retrieves a piece of paper. "How's your knee?"

"Better," I say, patting lightly on the bandages. "Not a meniscus tear, after all. They're giving me anti-inflammatory drugs for it."

"Good, good," he says, nodding. "I've talked to the doctor. You'll be released today."

"Really?" I feel a rush of excitement. Despite the friendly staff and good food, I can't wait to get out of here. "They didn't tell me that."

"It's a part of my job, knowing things before others do." He smiles, lowering his briefcase to the floor. "That's why your father paid me as much as he did." He sighs and shakes his head. "Your father was a good man, you know? He'll be missed."

"Yes," I say.

He gives me a curious glance. I wonder how much he knows about my relationship with my father, whether they even talked about personal stuff. Having been my father's attorney for years, he must have known at least some of it. In such case, he can't really expect me to miss my father. I also doubt he'll miss him. Maybe he'll just miss the generous paycheck.

"Can you tell me about Jaden?" I say. "How is he?"

I half expect him to refuse answering, like he did before, but he starts talking right away.

"He was released yesterday. Bruises and scratches, a concussion from the accident, but he's much better. They preferred to keep him for another day, but he insisted on going home."

"Sounds like him."

The information cheers me up even further. Nobody updated me on Jaden since we'd gotten separated after arriving at the hospital. The police wouldn't let us see each other, questioning us individually. Even Mr. Collins, until now, wouldn't talk about Jaden's health and whereabouts. Apparently, we're firmly out of the suspect zone if this topic is no longer taboo.

"You'll go home soon enough, too," says Mr. Collins. "I mean, of course, not exactly home..."

I cut him short. "I wouldn't want to go there."

I've been thinking about it, and I can't imagine returning to the house where the murders happened, sleeping in the room where Owen nearly shot me dead, opening the window that got stuck that night and almost had me killed. How could I walk the stairs where my father was shot? How could I enter the kitchen and not think of Hazel?

"Understandable." Mr. Collins tilts his head. "Now, if you're feeling up to it, I'd like to breach the subject of your father's will, since he named me as the executor."

"Executor?"

"A legal term. It's my job to notify all the next of kin and beneficiaries that the will has been probated, and to provide them with a copy of it."

"Oh?" I glance at the page in his hand. "Is this the copy?"

"Not the full document—I will supply it to you when you're out of here—but I took the liberty of summarizing the main points for your convenience." He looks at the list. "Your father's business partner, Mr. Jensen, is going to oversee things for now, but it's also stipulated that you'll join the company once you're finished with your education. Provided that your achievements meet certain professional criteria by the age of twenty-five, you'll be entitled to fifty percent of your father's tangible personal property." Mr. Collins glances at me. "That means money, jewelry, cars and so on. Jennifer could have gotten the other fifty percent if she took a similar path, with the addition of getting married and having at least one child by the age of twenty-five." He shrugs. "She's unlikely to do those things, given that she'll probably be in jail." He checks the document again. "As for the real estate, the mansion goes to your grandma. I trust it doesn't hold any sentimental value, given that you haven't been raised there?"

"What if I don't want to join his company?" I say. "Do I get nothing?"

He raises an eyebrow, as if puzzled by me even considering such an option.

"You'll have allowance until you reach the age of twenty-five," he says. "A monthly allowance that should be enough to pay for your degree and lead a comfortable life for a few years. After that, yes, if you don't join your father's business, you'll be cut out, and your money will be transferred to the charity your father had specified." He shrugs, then adds in a cheerful tone. "All in all, the allowance will amount to about ten percent of the full sum. It's still a lot."

I nod. Maybe Dad did love me a bit, or at least cared about me. I can still feel his bossy personality coming through in his will, trying to steer my life even from beyond the grave. Yet even if I choose to ignore his wishes and take my own path, he still left me something. Ten percent of love is better than no love at all.

Mr. Collins folds the paper and hands it to me.

"What do you think?" he says. "What're you going to do?"

"Not sure yet."

"Fair enough. You've undergone a huge trauma, so perhaps you should take your time recovering before making any decisions." He leans forward, lowering his voice. "I can recommend you a good therapist if you want. I believe you can afford someone of her level now. Let me know if you're interested."

"Thank you," I say. "I will."

"Good." He gets up, picking up his briefcase. "Now, you're not under arrest, but the police need to know about your whereabouts once you're out of here, and you should remain available for their enquiries during the investigation. Like, if you're planning to travel the world or something, now's not the time."

"Of course. I get it."

Traveling is the last thing on my mind. What I want most is to be somewhere safe, a quiet place where I can heal in peace. The world outside, once so friendly and full of opportunities, has gotten so much darker and scarier. It makes me wonder if I'll ever get back to how I used to be, happy and careless. I feel like I've grown up overnight, and it's kind of sad.

"Good," Mr. Collins says again. "Do you have a place to stay?"

I only need to consider that for a moment.

"Yes," I say. "I think I do."