Ruin (The Rhodes 1)

There’s so much to wrap my mind around. At this moment, I’m not strong enough to do it. I don’t want to do it. So I sit under the icy stream, allowing its low temperature to freeze my thoughts.

I crawl out of the shower when I lose feel of my skin. At least I’m not so dirty anymore.

I swipe a towel on my way out and wrap my body in it, getting much needed temperature back into my limbs. My eyes close as I pass the mirror in the bathroom. I don’t want to see the ghost-like monster that will probably stare me back.

Slumping on the large bed, coldness dissipates little by little. With its disappearance, an unwelcome wave of chaotic emotions rushes into the back of my consciousness.

My gaze darts around the room. If only I can find something to use as distraction. Black leather sofa and chairs. Dark grey walls. A large black table. Grey curtains. An endless mixture of black and grey. No life whatsoever. Beside the light, there’s nothing that illuminates this room. My hand extends to the nightstand to fetch a remote control. TV would be nice.

There’s no monitor in sight. I press the power button nonetheless. A screen lights up at the far end of the room.

That was a monitor? I thought it was part of the wall.

My hand swipes around the remote. All I have to do is find a film. They always cheered me up. Even if my current state isn’t exactly a minor case of stress.

If only I could hug Mum and Dad. I need their calming words more than any time. Dad would bring me chocolate ice cream and tell me everything will be all right. Mum would tell me stories of how she handles situations and urges me to find solutions of my own. They will both hug me and tell me how much they love me.

Tears roll down my cheeks at those memories. Almost knocking me back into pathetic hysteria.

Stop, Mae. Don’t go there.

I wipe at my face, and focus on the monitor. I won’t fall that easily. I won’t.

The image that greets me isn’t a channel. It’s a split screen. Two different videos play at the same time. The first is an empty entrance of a mansion. Nothing but a lit grey stony pathway in sight. Everything else collapses in darkness. The second video feed is what draws my attention. It’s the lavish hall I travelled through when I first left the dungeons. Aaron and many other men dressed in black stand in the centre of it. Only two men are wearing refined tuxedos. My gaze squints. Is that Aaron’s brother? All the others are either in business suits or in black T-shirts and trousers. Aaron changed into dark blue trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

I reach for the remote and click on the video. The hall extends on the whole screen. With it comes the sound of their conversation.

Aaron swings his fist and connects it with a man’s face in an Italian suit. I barely register the crunch before another blow sends the man staggering backwards.

I gasp. What is this?

“You only had one fucking job!” Aaron jabs his fist in the man’s stomach. Mine twists again as if wanting to vomit my intestines. “Was it that hard to find Celeste?”

Who’s Celeste? Who are all these people? Why are they standing still as Aaron beats the hell out of that man?

Another punch, straight to the man’s nose. This time, blood trickles down the man’s square jawline. “I told you to fight back!”

Aaron delivers one last blow before he’s yanked back by his brother. “Enough. This wasn’t Xan’s fault.”

Aaron confronts his brother, his expression is beyond the camera’s angle. “Because it’s yours. We wouldn’t have been in this mess if you didn’t invite Hampton.”

His voice is deep in a harsh, scary way. Anyone would’ve cowered back at such a threatening, authoritative voice. But Aaron’s brother doesn’t even flinch. He holds his gaze with a neutral expression.

“Don’t be absurd,” Aaron’s brother says in a curt tone. “How would I know he came to kill you?”

Who came to kill Aaron? The man who beat me? He did say something about ruining ‘that fucker’. Was I used in this? Did he have an agenda against Aaron and I was a pawn in their little game?

The burning that I’ve been trying to ignore all this time fires up in my chest. How dare they hurt me for their sick agendas?

“What’s done is done.” The third man in a tuxedo steps closer to Aaron and his brother. His eyes are steel grey, no, they’re green. A mixture of grey and green? His voice is even more polite than Aaron’s in his best states. “It’s useless to ponder on what happened. What we need right now is an appropriate plan to deal with the collateral damage.” He pauses, glancing between Aaron and his brother. “Everyone knows that the last place where Hampton has been seen alive is our banquet. What are our options?”

Banquet. Tuxedos. All those men. The most menacing three are talking about death and violence as if it’s a daily occurrence. Are they nobles or the mafia wrapped in refined aristocracy?

Aaron sits on a sofa, at the side of the camera, his expression blank. “There’s only one option. Since Tristan is the one who screwed this up, then he needs to take care of the mess on his own.” He points a finger at his brother. “Call your favours, judges, politicians, or whoever you deem worthy to cover this. I killed Hampton because I had to. He was in my quarters.”

So this Hampton man is dead. The horror film episode I witnessed wasn’t a play of my imagination. Aaron is a killer. And judging from the way he handled those knives, he’s a skilled killer.