Man of the Year (Drake Story)

Chapter Syv

The house propelled into motion.

The maids and servants were out and about, making breakfast, waking up the others, bathing Drake, cleaning the house. Things went on how they were supposed to, despite the commotion of the morning. It wasn’t their commotion, anyway. It was mine. They didn’t have to act like something was wrong because it wasn’t, at least not in their lives. I was the only one moping around, eyes in an eternal gaze, feet dragging and head down. Everyone was fine. Why couldn’t I be?

“Morning, Aubs. What’s wrong?” Isaac asked me as I passed by him in the West Wing. I shrugged.

“Nothing. And stop calling me that,” I said. “Where’s Jeffie?”

Isaac chuckled. “Who cares?” He walked off, grabbing a biscuit from one of the servant’s snack trays.

“Would you like a biscuit, Master Aubrey?” He asked. I didn’t recognize him from the mini-mansion but he had to have been there. They all were’ this completely changed my image in the house, at least with them.

“No. I want you to do me a favor.” I said to him. “You have keys to the library, right?”

“I don’t. Only William has those keys.”

“Good. Tell William to go into the library and up to the attic. Tell him it’s urgent. I can’t go up there myself because I’m not allowed, but I want William to do me this favor. It’s a life or death matter. Please,” I begged the servant once I saw how resistant he was. His lips were still pursed and his eyebrows were still raised by the time I finished, but eventually he set down his tray on a nearby ottoman and rolled his eyes.

“Fine. I’ll go tell him. But if this gets me into any trouble, I’m telling everyone it was you.” Then he walked off, his nose high up into the air like it always was, and disappeared.

This probably wouldn’t get him in trouble, but it would do some damage to me. William would go up there and into the attic. There were three possibilities. The first: there would be a lock on the attic, placed by Drake or someone that worked for him, a lock that no one had the key to. The second: the attic would be open, but Belphoebe wouldn’t be in there. The third: the attic would be open and Belphoebe would still be there, dead.

The third is the one that could’ve gotten me into trouble.

If she was dead and I was the one that drew everyone’s attention to it, they’d ask me how I knew. Of course, I would tell them the truth: I saw Cyrus kill her. Or I saw Cyrus make me inject her. That night was blurry so I didn’t really know, but I knew for sure that Cyrus and Drake were at fault. I’d tell the police this and they would probably think I was lying. I’d think I was lying. But the back-up plan was to use the mini-mansion for an example; all those people in one unsanitary room? It had to be against the law. Plus, Drake wasn’t even offering them showers. They created those showers for themselves. If I told the police this, it’d be some kind of ammunition against Drake to make them see what kind of bad person he was. Drake didn’t have anything against me. I was an all-around good guy. I was just prone to have accidents, like my house. But Belphoebe’s death, if she was dead, wasn’t going to be an accident.

I went to find Jeffie.

He was usually in the foyer or somewhere outside of the dining room, but when I checked these two places he was nowhere to be found. I tried entering the dining room but the servants told me that breakfast wasn’t ready yet, and Jeffie wasn’t in there. All I could do was wait. Wait for Jeffie to show up, wait for what William had to say.

I sat on the couch and closed my eyes.

“Master Aubrey.”

I could tell it was William. He was the only servant with a British accent.

I opened my eyes and stood up, trying to read his expression. Grave? Blank? Relieved? What happened?

“Yes?”

“Well, we’ve identified the problem.” William said.

“Good...good. What’s the problem?”

“Miss Belphoebe was upstairs in the attic, unconscious. I’ve identified her pulse and she’s on her way to the hospital.”

On her way to the hospital.

As he spoke, Belphoebe appeared in two of the servants’ arms, an oxygen mask around her mouth and her head bouncing up and down as she was carried. If William hadn’t spoken to me, right now would be a very grave moment. I would sit here and see her, how limp she was, and I would cry. I’d think she was dead. Hell, she could be by the time she got to the hospital. But what mattered at that moment was that she wasn’t dead. Cyrus and Drake hadn’t killed her, and if they kept her alive, it probably meant that they wanted her alive. She’d be okay, at least until their reason for wanting her here disappeared.

It was probably me.

“Thank you, William,” I said without looking at him. I got up and walked up to my room. Away from it all. I sat down on the bed, let myself sink into the softness of the sheets, and waited. Waited for the inevitable, for my worst nightmare - I waited.

It came.

“Master Aubrey, there are some gentlemen here to say you.” Haley said to me. She couldn’t even look at me. I looked at myself in the mirror, for it could’ve been the last time in a long time that I would. I stared and stared until finally, Haley came back into my room, saying that the ‘gentlemen’ did not want to wait.

So I went outside, turned around and let them put me in handcuffs. They thought I was the one that tried to kill Belphoebe. Of course they did. They’d take me to jail and put me on trial and they wouldn’t believe me, either that or I’d be forced to plead guilty. I’d be locked up for twenty years, and rot in that prison.

That’s okay. I really, really didn’t mind.