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That night, Will barely left his room. After a few hours he composed himself enough to
look for some food. To his surprise, Barbason had a lunch meat sandwich waiting for him.
“Figured ye’d be hungry,” he mumbled while chewing his own dinner.
Will tried his best to smile. “Thanks, but I’m vegetarian.”
Barbason stared at Will as if he had suddenly spoken a foreign language. He stopped eating
and tried to wrap his mind around the concept of “vegetarian.” Will didn’t know what
to tell him; ever since he found out what meat was he couldn’t eat it without imagining
the animal screaming in pain. He hunted through the fridge for a meatless meal, but his hopes
grew dim as he saw the carnivorous preferences of his great-uncle. He settled for peanut
butter and jelly, which was about all he felt up to eating anyway.
After dinner, Will unpacked. It quickly became clear that Barbason was right; there wasn’t
room for more than two suitcases could fit. Despite the cramped living quarters, Will
started to feel better as his possessions filled the room. Once most of his things were
put away, Will laid down on the old mattress. It took hours for sleep to finally reached
him. The next day Will woke up to a back as stiff
as the mattress it slept on. He grabbed fresh clothes to take a shower, hoping the warm
water would sooth his aching bones. For a few minutes, it worked wonders. Then Will
very quickly remembered what his great-uncle said about the hot water. He stepped out of
the shower, shivering. Barbason appeared to be a late sleeper; Will got dressed, ate toast,
and cleaned his dishes without seeing his great-uncle once.
Later that morning, Will’s cellphone rang. He had no idea who would be calling. Will’s
parents only gave him that phone “in case he needed it,” which he rarely did. The
number was unfamiliar, but the voice wasn’t. “Will,” said the man on the phone. “This
is Mr. MacDonald. I’m your parents’ attorney.” He remembered MacDonald. He helped his parents
during the few occasions they needed legal documents drawn up. Although rather detached,
Will liked him. Something in his dull voice and sharp eye gave Will the impression this
man hunted technical errors like a hawk for a field mouse.
“Hi Mr. MacDonald,” Will said. He was pretty sure he knew what this was about.
MacDonald cleared his throat. “I need to discuss the Last Will & Testament of your
parents with you, when you are available.” “Okay,” said Will. He wanted to get this
over with, but he didn’t know when Barbason would be awake. Thinking it rude to invite
someone over without his guardian’s consent, he said “Let me ask my great-uncle. Can
I call you back?” “Sure,” MacDonald said. “You have my
number.” Will hung up, and paced the living room. Now
on top of his other worries, he began to wonder what would come of his parents’ will.
Morning came and went, the afternoon began, yet still Barbason’s door remained shut.
Will was beginning to worry when the old man finally limped down the hall at almost three
o’ clock. He grunted a greeting and went for the fridge.
As Barbason ate his breakfast (if it was stilled called “breakfast” this late in the afternoon),
Will asked about MacDonald. He mumbled agreement through a mouthful of cereal.
“Have ‘em over whenever,” Barbason said. “I got calls to make myself, gettin’ ye
into school and all. Got up early to get ‘em done.”
If this was early, Will couldn’t imagine his great-uncle sleeping in.
“Just keep in mind, kid, we got another funeral to get to tomorrow,” Barbason reminded
him. Will completely forgot. Tomorrow, he would
have to face the hardest funeral of a death-filled winter. He didn’t comment, but made a note
to get his parents’ will taken care of early. True to his word, Barbason spent the next
hour on the phone. He sounded confused and disgruntled throughout.
“How am I s’posed to know this stuff anyhow?” he said in between calls. “I ain’t never
had a kid.” Will called MacDonald back. He said he’d
stop by the next morning. Will said that sounded great. And with a sigh of relief, Barbason
said his school transfer was sorted out. Will would be starting on Monday.
Sleep did not come easy that night. For the first time since the accident, the nightmares
were back. The shapeless shadow lurked just outside Will’s field of vision, stalking
his every move. Only those fluorescent yellow eyes were clear, and somehow they were even
more terrifying than the unseen monster. These eyes could chill your blood with a glance,
and drive you mad by their scrutiny. Will couldn’t stop himself from staring; that
petrifying gaze immobilized him better than any shackles. Something about the eyes was
especially unnerving, but Will couldn’t place it. Then, with the senseless surety
that only seems logical in dreams, he realized the most horrific thing about them.
They are human eyes! Will woke up choking back a scream. His pillow
was drenched in cold sweat, and he felt clammy. It was still too early to get up, but Will
refused to go back to sleep. In his dreams he was vulnerable, but while awake Will could
explain this bogeyman away. He laid in bed, reminding himself that the monster with those
eyes probably never existed outside of his mind.
As Will got up and went through another quiet morning, that chill lingered. He took a shower
as fast as he could, and only got blasted with cold water near the end.
By the time MacDonald arrived, the start of one last heavy snowfall began. Will took MacDonald’s
coat, and they each took a seat on the couch. The tired old springs squeaked below them.
MacDonald sifted through his briefcase and pulled out a file. “I’d like to go over
your parents’ Last Will and Testament. Are you up for it?”
“Yes,” said Will. He felt queasy, as if reading their will would make their deaths
official. “Very well.” MacDonald put on his reading
glasses, and skimmed through the document. “In essence, their will is fairly simple.
They listed each other as the primary benefactor. In the case of both of their deaths, they
leave their entire estate to you.” Will expected as much. He couldn’t think
of anyone else they would have left it to. Both of his parents worked, and were comfortably
in the middle class. Will didn’t know how much money they had, but he figured he’d
have enough to get by. “Now, this is where it gets a little more
complicated. First of all, as a minor you do not have full access to their assets. Most
of it will be kept until you are 18, but you are allowed a percentage of it each month
for personal expenses. “Aside from money is the issue of your parents’
belongings. The largest asset is, of course, their house. But they each had a car as well,
not to mention a household full of personal belongings.
“Your parents also had decent life insurance plans. They were covered for $125,000 each,
once again leaving you as the sole benefactor.” This was starting to sound like a much higher
number than Will expected. “How much have I actually inherited, Mr. MacDonald?” he
asked directly. MacDonald thumbed through the file. “Based
on the information I have, I estimate you would be entitled to at least $450,000. Assuming
you sold the house and their belongings, that is.”
Will almost choked. When you’re fifteen years old, $450,000 sounds like an unfathomable
amount of money. “Wow...” “However, that doesn’t take recent income
into account,” said MacDonald. When Will gave him a puzzled look, he continued. “As
I understand it, your grandfather lived very comfortably. I don’t have all the information
about his will yet, but it appears he left the majority of his estate to your mother.
Which means everything she inherited, you inherited.
This time Will did actually choke a little. Grandpa Connor was very, very well off. If
Will inherited almost half a million dollars from his parents, he couldn’t imagine what
his grandfather had left him. “Mind you, it does not sound like Dr. Amon
kept all his funds to himself,” MacDonald clarified. “A quick search shows that he’s
made considerable donations to Elkhorn’s library, police department, hospital and school
district. But based on the value of his house, possessions and life insurance policy you
could assume at least as much from him as from your parents.”
It was unreal. Just last night Will was hunting in the fridge to find something that wasn’t
expired. Today, he discovered he’s inheriting close to a million dollars.
MacDonald must have noticed the money-glazed look in Will’s eyes, because he said “Remember,
you only have full access to your full inheritance after you turn 18. Until then you are given
a monthly allowance to cover expenses.” That was fine, as far as Will was concerned.
He certainly didn’t need that much money. Still... It was nice knowing it was there.
“Thanks, Mr. MacDonald,” Will said. MacDonald nodded as he gathered his things.
“We’ll keep in touch.” Will watched him drive away. The snow was
getting heavier now, frosting the streets with a half-inch blanket of whiteness. He
wondered how bad it would be by this afternoon. John and Cassandra Lewis would find their
final resting place beneath the same snow that covered them on their death day. It was
cruel irony. The thought of this impending funeral, so
quickly after the reading of their will, was too much to bear. Will fell to his knees on
the dirty doormat, and cried from the bottom of his heart. This horrible winter could take
Grandma Eleanor. It could have Grandpa Connor. But it couldn’t steal Will’s parents from
him. That was just... Too much. I can’t take this, Will thought as his emotional
defenses broke down. I’m not strong enough to do this alone. I don’t care how much
money they left me; I would trade all of it to have my parents back!
He couldn’t calm down. When it’s your heart that’s broken, you bleed through your
eyes. And even when you think the sorrow is at bay, it takes just the slightest thing
to rupture the tears, the hurt, and the heartache all over again. Some pain heals with time,
vanishing like a forgotten cut or bruise. But losing someone so close to you is different.
That kind of loss is like a severed limb; even if the wound closes and the bleeding
stops, your life will never be the same without them.
Will didn’t notice his great-uncle’s approaching footsteps. He jumped when he felt a rough,
calloused hand on his shoulder. “Hey kid,” Barbason said.
Will sniffed, trying to hide his tears. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Barbason raised an eyebrow. “For what?” “For... for...” Will didn’t know how
to say it. “For being an inconvenience. It’s not fair for you to take me in. I bet
the last thing you need is a teenage kid you barely know living here. I’ll... I’ll
leave. I can spend a couple years in an orphanage. I’ll be okay after that.”
Barbason stared, kneeling on the floor next to him.
“This isn’t your problem,” Will sighed. The tears finally stopped, but his heart was
still heavy with grief. “It’s not your fault my parents died.”
Silence was only broken by an occasional sniffle. Will was just about to get up and re-pack
his things when the old man’s grip tightened. “Listen kid,” said Barbason. His head
was hung low, almost in shame. “I know this place ain’t much. And I know I ain’t no
good with kids. But I’m tryin’. So as long as ye’d like this place more than some
orphanage, ye have a home here. I owe ye that much, at least.”
The good intentions behind Barbason’s words made up for their lack of grace. Although
still hurting, Will certainly felt better. “Thank you, Uncle Barbason.”
Barbason pulled himself into a standing position, using his cane for support. His bones creaked
with each move. “Ye know kid... Ye don’t have to go stand ‘round listenin’ to other
peoples’ grief. Ye can honor yer parents from right here, if ye want. But ye don’t
have to put on a show for nobody.” Will thought about it. He had resigned himself
to going out of obligation; the last thing he wanted was a repeat of Connor’s grave-side
service. He didn’t think he had a choice in the matter. But if he did...
“Thanks,” Will finally said. He stood up and wiped the last remaining tears from
his cheeks. “If that’s alright with you, I think I’ve had enough funerals for one
year.” So Will held his own memorial service. In
the solitude of his room, he went through photo albums. Took out a few pictures. Said
all the things he wished he could say. There was more crying, but these were good tears.
In his own way and in his own words, he was putting them to rest.
“Rest in peace, John Lewis,” he said, his broken voice barely a whisper. “Rest
in peace, Cassandra Lewis.” Will stared at a family portrait through watery eyes.
“Mom, dad... I’ll miss you.”