Scribbles and Drabbles

Autumn

The smell of fruit and spices moved through the apartment, up through the floorboards from the bakery. Bret's stomach grumbled and he settled into his chair more comfortably, putting his book of short stories down to lean his head on the back of the sofa idly. The book was fine. Some of the stories were lovely things, others were a touch too clique for Bret's current mood. It had calmed him down from his bad mood from earlier. Didn't quite remove the issue, but he didn't feel the need to punch someone anymore.

Outside the window were brightly coloured leaves from the turning trees in the park, and the sound of people passing by on the busy street. Bret's bakery and apartment were in a nice area of town. He had worked and grown his business carefully and the location was excellent for drawing in tourists looking for a quick bite to eat after strolling through the park.

It seemed too soon for it to be autumn, he had only just celebrated his birthday recently. He had been 30. His friends had dragged him around gay bars on the pull in celebrate, desperate to find him a partner. They hadn't been successful, possibly luckily now.

He put the book down on his table and rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other taking off his glasses. This wasn't going to be a fun few months. On the table was an envelope made from heavy expensive paper. In gold was his name in cursive writing, Mr. Bret Camacho. There was no address. This had been hand-delivered. A threat in its own manner from people he had assumed had long forgotten his existence.

He stood up and walked away from his little nest of neutral coloured cushions and well-read books by the window. He moved into the hallway and shut the door to his little room of peace. Already he could feel the weight of the situation beginning to weight on his shoulders again. Bret couldn't understand how this was happening. The bakery was earning good money. Not enough to pay off the amount of debt his family had incurred. If it had been a legal matter, Bret wouldn't have been liable but the people this involved cared little for legal matters. He remembered that painfully well.

He hadn't spoken to his family for years once it was made clear that he was gay and they didn't care for that. They had kept him out of their business and he had respected their desire not to acknowledge him. His father had paid for his university tuition and after that, there had been no contact.

Stepping into the kitchen, he put the kettle on and leant against the cupboards. Most of his family was dead now, if not all of them. He was sad when he received the news. Now, he was more annoyed than anything else. They had gotten into debt with dangerous people and now he was expected to pay up. How he was going to pay the huge amount was uncertain.

The family it was owed to were once allies of family. They weren't particularly bloodthirsty. Bret knew they occasionally ordered people to be killed, same as every other old-money family, but they didn't go out of their way to do so. Unless things had changed over the ten or so years that he'd been out of the loop. Assuming they still preferred getting their money to killing people, they may be reasonable with an instalment plan. Or they might just have him shot and leave him to die in his blood. It was hard to tell, he'd been hanging out with normals for too long now.

Shuddering at the image, Brett pushed off the cupboards and began pacing. There was no running from this. He knew the resources people in those kinds of families had access too. Things that normal people didn't know even existed. Running would just make things worse. What he needed to do was phone them up and ask to discuss the best to pay them. Except he was afraid.