“Sir!”
“At ease Cadet, status report?” a thin man with no lips asked.
“Other than more pieces of human body parts, we found this broken shoe, shards of an obsidian rock and another puddle of viscera. It is highly likely that it was another body, sir.” The brown coat-wearing young man said with hesitance.
“Just one? Why?”
“There was only one other pair of eyes sir,” the cadet, trailing a trembling hand over his mouth. “They had the same colour.”
“Thank you, cadet, now go back and join the others in compiling everything in boxes and organize them according to item.”
“...Yes sir! Do-do we separate the body parts as well?”
“Only for the ones in the bottom, according to the children there should be three bodies and I want to confirm that,” the man said, dismissing the cadet with a wave of his hand.
Once the cadet was gone he began looking over the sheets that were placed over his desk.
“Six children, three dead three alive,” he muttered. “One adult resident, dead...another adult reported to be the shopkeeper of Untold Secrets and Blessings of Beings dead outside. They really did a number on her, no face at all to confirm its validity but the shop has been empty ever since the incident too...Madam Arterofortuna...Man’s body was dead for a while and his coffin was found there, too. It all fits but..”
‘There’s something missing...I’m sure of it.’ he thought. He read through all their accounts once more, glancing at every word for something to pop out. He could go through them with ease now, considering he’d been reading them for the past three days straight. The fat kid’s parents were getting restless. They couldn’t keep them detained for much longer.
‘Don’t they realise everyone is getting restless?’ He wiped the sweat off his face and resumed the paragraph from the beginning. It didn’t help that it was hotter than a farm shed in his room which was thrice as small as the smallest shed he’d seen. He’d heard the land before their move was a lot cooler.
The children’s accounts may have been a chore to get through but thankfully they weren’t as poor to do as some of the other kids he’d questions so they could actually write decent summaries. He had them write it all themselves in a silent and empty room so there was much more detail in their accounts than when his cadets took their statements.
Suddenly, as if by a miracle, something made sense. He placed a finger over the paragraph he’d read and looked through the paragraphs of the other’s accounts.
“Sudden pull towards a rock………....Wanted to kill her but not like that...”
“Cadet,” he shouted, being extremely careful to not move his hands away from the paragraphs. A haggard face of a fresh cadet poked through the doorway and made to pose a solute when he noticed his excitement. “Find those kids and bring them in.”
“Yessir,” he said, slurring the words in his haste. Everyone wanted to be done with this nasty business.
When all three children were standing before him he picked up both parchments and read the words aloud.
“...This sudden pull towards the rock and this wanting to kill her but not like that, explain them to me,” he asked after the reading.
“...How?” The fat kid asked, his arms were clenched by his sides. He couldn’t attack him from where he stood.
“Which part did you write?”
“The latter one, sir,” he replied.
“Then explain to me what you meant by ‘not like that'? Make me believe why you couldn’t have killed her when she, according to this, a few minutes ago caused the death of your brother.”
“It’s not that I wasn’t angry at what happened to my brother…I just don’t think I would’ve been able to kill her. I mean I’m scared of certain things, and some things no matter how much I’m pushed I wouldn’t be able to do.”
“Example? And can this example be verified by the others?”
“My brother could, we shared everything, but he’s been...eaten,” the officer let the kid sniffle and inquisitively stared at the oldest child, a girl who was quietly glaring at him. He cocked his head allowing her speech.
“I have one,” the girl said. “The day before we got the message that father had died, Hastille and I were in the bathroom playing the hiding game when this cockroach appeared out from under the sink. We both screamed and he ignored me telling him to kill the cockroach with his shoes, he was the only one wearing them. It crawled away and he held onto me in fear. Then, as it began to crawl towards us he pushed me towards it and jumped over the sink. He was so scared that he didn’t even try jumping over the cockroach’s path, also that was the only time he jumped that high. He ran out the door and only after he’d reached the door did he realize what he’d done.”
“But according to these accounts he and his brother ran into the big man to knock him down, we found the man’s head in the mulch on the dining table,” the officer countered.
“He didn’t kill it, he only pushed him down. He always only pushes people. One time when Melissa had gotten...overeager in h-hugging Jameson she almost pulled his arms out. Even then, Hastille only pushed her down,” George said. “I said he’d hit her. But he could’ve done a lot worse than pushing her on her bum.”
“...That incident isn’t written in these papers...You didn’t write everything,” he held their gaze for a moment before sighing in exasperation.
‘Let it go, god this case is eating our conscience.’ His fingers never left the paragraphs.
“Now what about the former statement? Who said that?”
“That was me, sir,” the girl said.
“It only affected you it seems, so tell me...actually, can you hold this paragraph in place here?” he asked. He turned away to the paper’s he’d compiled in the boxes all over his room once her finger was firmly in place.
‘Box 6, no Box 7, that held the transcripts from that demonic ship,’ the Officer thought, pulling out the heavy book of the Waypointer’s Captain’s transcripts. He placed it on the table and immediately knew the fat kid was uneasy. He fixed the kid with a heavy glare and asked in an intimidating voice; “Something wrong?”
“You’re looking through a storybook sir. We wouldn’t make up something from the storybook,” he said, pointing to the other children. “They don’t even know what that is.”
“Which is a good thing, for this whole conversation I’m going to have with her would’ve been useless had she read this story before, have you read this book before?” He asked with a frown.
“No, what’s it about? I may have?” she asked.
“The accounts from the book owned originally by the Captain of a prized Alexandrian Ship. The Waypointer. Have you heard of it?”
“No, sorry sir. I haven’t studied our history as much,” she seemed to be genuinely ashamed at herself so he let it go. Better for him if she didn’t know about it going in.
“In this case, this is a good thing. Now tell me, if you were feeling something similar to this; ‘The woman, tonight, had proclaimed that from the back of her eyes she was feeling a push and a searing pain that was unrelated to it was spreading across her face. Being so close to the rocks we believe to be from the Being’s own body may have been the reason for this. To test this theory I carried one of them close to her and asked her to touch it. The moment I entered the room with it she, along with her sisters, had gone silent and although everyone else took notice of me and the men carrying weapons she seemed entirely fixed on the rock. She seemed to ignore my words but her body obeyed and slowly, without fear of any fish hooks and poles pointed at her, she walked towards it. When she reached a foot away from the rock I saw her eyes shake and in that moment the rock suddenly exploded. I didn’t see the rock explode but when I turned that golden light was just disappearing and the rock lay in dust. After that incident, she suddenly became aware of her surroundings once again. Once she’d been tended to and I’d apologized for the hundredth time she told me that she experienced ringing in her ears and felt an unnatural pull, something stronger than the one she’d felt towards the old woman she’d followed aboard, stronger than love or loyalty, but also not natural from the stone. It was clear she’d lost herself in the rock's presence so I’d have them all moved to the other end of the ship.’”
The officer stopped and looked back at her.
“Were your experiences similar to hers?” he asked.
“Unnaturally similar, sir.” She whispered, her eyes not leaving the book. “What is it called?”
“It's not called anything, it's an account and its copy can probably be found at his house,” he nodded towards the fat kid. “Thank you, children, I’ve now understood something that had been disturbing me for a long time. But...I’m not going to tell this to my superiors.”
“Why not?” Everyone asked simultaneously.
“Control yourself, I’ve spent many nights fighting these same thoughts. Here is the truth. No one outside this door believes you children. Some of them even hold you responsible for it. Particularly you two,” he said pointing at the boys that looked at him with betrayal. “*Sigh* Its because you’re boys and boys are known for their brute strength and short tempers. Half of those people could easily be convinced to consider you” this time he pointed towards the girl. “The mastermind. A seductress who convinced two boys to kill their loved ones and who is still keeping them tightly wrapped around your finger. Because there are many instances where a woman’s promise is a stronger force than a man’s sword.”
“Why do I believe you? The dead person who apparently ate himself is the only reason why I would believe you, because he doesn’t make sense when you account for all, and I do mean all, of the rumours. No one can explain it, and I hate not having something explained. It doesn’t matter how absurd it may seem but your story makes sense and now I have proof that it makes sense.” He said holding up the book as evidence. “Because stories always have a base of origin, and here this account is the perfect evidence. It has already been proven by the only surviving member of the shipwreck, William Saiviers himself and by the drunks that met the old pirate captain of the accursed ship in the pub. It proves that what happened to you two only three days ago also happened to others several decades before you. Chances of that ever happening are too small to be a well thought out plan. Everything fits. Would you like to know how?”
“...No,” they all said after looking at each other.
“I just want to know why?” the fat kid asked.
“Will it ever affect us again?” the girl added.
“It’s a good thing I’ll have a record of this otherwise I feel like I’m in my own echochamber here,” the officer said, giving them a frown. Eventually he sighed and began compiling his notes. “You were all just extremely unlucky and while it may never happen again...let me know if it ever does. Your mother was a very desperate woman and if I’m to be believed, Madam Arterofortuna was just another vessel of the Being to collect more souls. There is still a chance no matter how small but it’s as unlikely to happen as it is to be raining animals from the sky...of course barring the events that occurred at the beginning of Great Migration, those times don’t count cause they were just unbelievably curious. All seven kingdoms falling into the ocean, hah, am I right?”
When no one was amused he grumbled to himself and continued on; “I will tell my officers that it was very much NOT you three. That you all were just unfortunate victims of a coincidental double murder planned by the crazy Mrs.Ouxfore.”
“But she didn’t do it-”
“-You’ll ruin her life-”
“-You lying-” (Can you guess who said this?)
“SHUT IT!” he bellowed.
When the teens eventually calmed down he began; “In case you haven’t noticed Mrs. Ouxfore just killed herself yesterday. She’s already due to be buried with her husband in a morrows time. Her mother has also just left this town to be with her son three towns over. News may trickle down to these towns but it will be too slow and too diluted to make any lasting impact. Besides, the dead can’t defend themselves, so let the living believe lies about them.”
When he saw their expressions he sighed once more and continued in a more regretful tone, “I’m sorry children, but people need a physical scapegoat to believe in. Just like how wrong it is to put your twin in your place for hanging, you need to do it in order to survive. And society will very happily do it than realize that the problem lies within. Within the people who make life very well for themselves and not others. Within the people who succumb to that being which seduces them with false promises of treasure, home and power…You all don’t care about this do you?...*Sigh* I’m just wastin’ my breath. Very well, you may leave now. Let’s hope we never meet again, unless you have to ask for something else?”
“Where will our parents be buried?”
“They will be burned, girl.” He said. “Once I’ve organised and gotten approval for their burning I’ll send one of the boys who actually believes in your innocence to deliver it as quickly as possible wherever you all are. So to make his future easier, stay in the same town for the next few years, alright? On your way out tell the cadet at the desk I’d like to see him in my office.”
“Thank you,” they all said one after the other, each one less sure than the previous. The officer watched them slowly waddle out of his office on their stiff legs.
“You called sir?” the cadet poked his head into the room, upon seeing his leader’s relaxed smile he gave a full salute in the doorway.
“I’ve solved it once again, my dear Clifford.”
“Very good sir.”
“Would you like to hear it?”
“Perhaps over dinner, sir?”
“These aren’t just make-belief stories that I’m telling you, you know.”
“So I'm invited tonight?”
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“...Only because you’re the only one who listens, my hands are tied.”
“I’ll let the missus know,” the cadet smiled.
The children walked out to see Hastille parents arguing at the front of the military investigations office. They quickly quitened down once the children came into view. The remaining Mr. and Mrs. Kressler took in the carriage and the permission papers to leave the Military Compound they’d been asked to stay in for the past day and a half. Their carriage ride didn’t stop untill they’d reached their new home a few towns over.
Hastille’s father had set up a new house three towns south from Gusparand and considered himself lucky to have chosen not to move in his brother’s old home. In half a day from when he’d been told of the events Mr. Kressler moved all their belongings to the new town while the remaining Mrs. Kressler stayed back in the military compound to console the three teens.
Anthony and Margret Kressler would spend their remaining days in their new house. Anthony would continue his practice as a doctor in the new town and teach his skills to Hastille whe the boy would come of age. Margret would forever blame her husband for Bastille's death, despite Hastille’s efforts to make her forgive. She would eventually stay and die by his side but better to have forgotten the pain and hate towards her husband than to unwillingly forgive.
Hastille, Miranda and George would forever tell the events as they’d experienced them, but only to those that cared enough to believe or listen to them without criticism. They would remain as close to each other as honey to honeycombs, as in, only the salty water of their tears of joy at George’s wedding would force them to separate. Miranda and Hastille see him off to the next town over with his beloved but remain in the same house as their brother/cousin sought his own future.
George would remain married to the woman until her death seven years after their third son, and marry twice more before hiring a young maid to take care of him and his family by which time he’d have seven children to boast of. He would see to their education at home and encourage them to learn proper manners, table & social etiquettes, and defence. He would continue attending local parties and perform various attempts at impressing the local nobility, and after five failed attempts by his four sons and first daughter he would see success in his second oldest son and second youngest daughter. George would finally have his dream of never ending parfaits fulfilled as he’d be the father-in-law to two of noble birth. He’d enjoy the treats, and various visits from his cousin and sister, but most the treats. So much so, that it is speculated that they eventually forced him to become sick.
By his fifth decade all his children would be married off and spread across nearby, northern, towns, except the last son who would die much like George’s father; out in the new war with the natives. Miranda and Hastille’s visits would decrease as the time would pass and 3-months before his death only Miranda is said to have visited him last. The cause of his death is still debated over for it occurred too closely with the events that destroyed settlements of ‘the people that came across the blue land’.
Hastille would take after his father and work as a doctor. After George’s marriage he too would find love and marry one of his regular patients and move into her house. Although the marriage was his decision he would regret it soon after moving in. He would find himself alone in his views, thoughts, enjoyments etc. He would constantly seek the company of others from back home and pay regular visits to his parents from the afternoons to the evening times. During this time, Miranda would stay with his parents while he ‘enjoyed’ the married life.
One day, after realising a year’s worth of marriage had come to pass Hastille would close shop early and go home to surprise his wife with honeyed parfaits he’d asked George. Unbeknownst to him, his wife had been preparing surprises for him every time he went to visit his parents. It was only now that he’d found them.
After finding the woman in bed with the local butcher Hastille would attempt murder. But he was no cold-blooded killer and would instead bear much more injuries himself than he’d inflict. Hastille would leave that night, ‘with his tail behind his back’ as his ex-wife liked to call it, and spend several days in solitude and shame back in his parents' apothecary. A small shack beside the main house. It would be Miranda who, taking her uncle’s advice confront her cousin over his sudden silence. She would threaten and finally pry out the events of that afternoon.
Hastille may not have been a cold-blooded killer, he may have stayed his hands from killing Madam Arterofortuna, but Miranda hadn’t.
While Hastille would be confined to the main house, as per her threats, Miranda would march down to the butcher's shop and buy all his meat for that week. She would store it in the jars of the apothecary without Hastille’s knowledge and for the next few months, every night throw as many pieces through the woman’s window until the meat would run out. Considering she wouldn’t get caught the butcher would be forced to close, but remain. She would then injure the woman’s pet during her absence and leave one of its bones hanging over her bed for her to find upon her return.
Terror and horror plague the ex-wife’s livelihood and ruin the butcher’s nights as Miranda would continue her actions. Through all this of course, Hastille was none the wiser. Until the butcher and his ex-wife would leave town and he would receive a visit from the catchpole and hear of Miranda’s arrest for torching their home at night. Upon release and subsequent confrontation she would only respond with a shy smile;
“She broke your heart, I broke her house. I’m satisfied now.”
Miranda had been helping Hastille in his practice from the moment she had begun tormenting his ex-wife. Now that she was gone, Miranda devoted all her time to learning her uncle Anthony’s practice from Hastille. However, she soon realised that not all injuries could be treated when she witnessed an unintended death on the doctor’s table. From then on, too much blood made her very sick, and while she continued to help Hastille, whenever a seriously injured patient would attend she would focus on taking care of her uncle and aunt for the rest of the day, refusing to step near even the ground floor much less the apothecary.
Hastille’s 30th birthday would be the changing point in both their lives. Having been hounded by his mother for the upteenth time to marry, Hastille would initiate a fight and in anger and shame run away. He would spend a few days at George’s house before departing once more for a more southern environment, closer to the warzone.
Miranda would give chase and after scolding her recently widowed brother she too would disappear south. A few days later, the two would return, with Hastille sporting new scars across his neck and Miranda across her wrists.
The events of those nights away would remain a mystery forever.
Despite his mother’s wishes, Hastille would never marry again and both him and Miranda would remain in his parent’s house long after their small funerals. Miranda would have a child out of wedlock and when it would become public knowledge in the town Hastille would step in and adopt her as his own.
Soon after this, news of the south being lost would reach their village and many residents would be forced to evacuate. After that, an all out evacuation order would be released which would see the village barren except the Kressler Household.
Miranda and Hastille would have their biggest fight yet, and eventually both would choose to stay, although for different reasons. The events followed as such:
Miranda believed herself enough to contend against the natives' force. Her unnatural strength came in handy when the first few natives decided to walk past the village’s entrance. Her punches, aimed for their heads, would send them flying back. She was content with killing them, she’d resolved to give her life doing so, until Hastille arrived.
“Where’s Melissa!?” she shouted at him, stopping him in his tracks behind her. One brave native warrior decided to use the distraction and suffered a concussion as Miranda too sent him flying past the village borders. A group of them, likely a scouting party, had formed at the front of the archway and were yelling at her in sounds she’d never heard before. Hollering and bashing their shields with their spears.
“Not her to see you kill yourself,” Hastille responded with acid. He met her glares before eventually sighing. “She’s fine, hidden in the house. She knows to run if I don’t come up that road.”
“Then go up there and get her out of here.”
“I’m not going back up there without you Miranda,” he said. “Violence isn’t the answer, we tried that already, and guess what? We failed.”
Hastille believed in coexisting with the natives. He saw the crumpled forms of two native lying within the village boundaries and tried to convince the native of his help. Seeing as none were willing yet none could move past Miranda he decided to carry the two back to the house. After he’d set about saving their lives from bleeding away he was at a much better start than those who’d previously tried to attempt peaceful contact.
“This is stupid, they’ll kill you the moment either I let my guard down or they find all the different ways inside this house,” Miranda said, staring away from his operating table. It was currently filled out with a writhing native that had blood slowly pooling beneath him.
“Stupider than facing all the natives yourself?” Hastille countered acridly.
“You know I could’ve-”
“No Miranda, I don’t,” he shouted, finally glaring at her squared back. But soon realising his patient's relevance to their safety Hastille was forced to speak as he sutured. “I know you’re strong, stronger than everyone I know...combined. But if you think that you could’ve held off the natives AND made it back to your daughter then you’re not only incredibly strong but also incredibly stupid. Keep still, I’m not done with you.”
After a few minutes of silence, during which the patient was wrapped in bandages and set beside the other one, Miranda said; “I’m sorry-”
“Goddammit Miranda,” Hastille said in frustration as he banged his hands on the table.
”Goddammit.” He hissed as he cut himself.
Hastille kept silent after that, focusing on measuring the correct drops to drug the natives with and left them to sleep off their injuries. When he came back to the table Miranda automatically held out her hand, displaying the wet cloth for him as she still refused to turn around.
“You’re the only one I’ve got left,” he grimaced as he cleaned his hands and cuts. “Melissa can’t - I can’t lose you. But you knew that and still tried to martyr yourself. That was incredibly stupid and really hurt.”
“I said I’m sorry,” Miranda whimpered, her shoulder hunched and her face bowed against the wall.
“That’s not something you can fix by trying to apologise, you idiot!” Hastille said as he walked up to her. After a second of hesitation he gently grasped her shoulders, almost being flung away from her flinching.
“And I’m not the one you should be apologising to,” He turned her around and pulled her away from the desk. ”You have a beautiful daughter who I just saw ugly herself with tears as she prepared for her mother’s death. After you left without a word, leaving me to tell her.”
Miranda finally met his cerulean eyes with her teary-red ones.
Hastille always knew something had changed in her since that night, more so than in him and George. She’d grown stronger, beyond anyone he knew. She’d grown colder and more sadistic towards everyone except maybe him and George, she even kept Melissa - her own daughter - at an arm’s length. But perhaps the greatest change had been her eyes. They’d turned red instead of the blue ones she’d been born with and once upon a time he’d been afraid to look at her. They seemed to glow, what was he supposed to do except fear when those red orbs would just appear in the black night.
Once he’d been afraid, but now? He felt nothing but pity. Right now those same fearful red eyes looked at him with the same pain her daughter’s brown ones had a few hours ago.
“Forgive me,” she asked, looking down to hide her face behind the canopy of hair.
“Come here,” Hastille pulled her in a hug, lending her his shoulder. “Miranda, in time...I can forgive you. But I can’t say the same for your daughter.”
“She yours too, you know,” she said after a troubled sigh. “You adopted her in front of everyone.”
“I know, but I’m not her father, not in her eyes.” Hastille said. “I’ll probably only ever be Uncle Hastille.”
“I’ll talk to her-”
“No,” Hastille said, pulling her back. “Not about this. You go ahead and find her, and when you do apologise for what you tried to do. She needs to know her mother won’t abandon her again.”
“...Okay,” Miranda said, kissing his cheek as she began to leave.
“And Miranda?” Hastille smiled. “Don’t return until she’s asleep. The native’s aren’t going to attack, we have their chieftain’s son, after all.”
That night, when he’d have locked the natives in the apothecary, Hastille found them lying in Melissa’s bed, fast asleep.
Hastille would’ve liked to believe that saving the chieftain’s son was the right move; for, even after the Native’s occupied all land around them and took up residence in the city - breaking down the houses to build their own structures - their house was left untouched. However, the fearful undertones of their rumors about a ‘lady with the blood eyes’ protecting the house didn’t support his beliefs as much as he would’ve liked.
His talks with the natives also didn’t progress as much as he’d hoped. Although he was able to agree on peace with them, and the news from the north suggested a few others had done so too, that was the extent of their talks. They would be left in their little hamlets and villages with no weapons or means of resistance. Of course Hastille was much more focused on getting them interested in his culture or even any of his medical knowledge. But alas, the talks went nowhere. Their excuse being that they ‘already had a healer’ despite never seeing one himself.
After the native occupation of their town, with his and Miranda’s residency being cemented they would find themselves and their way of life a frequent topic of discussion with the visiting natives. And after one too many arguments by Miranda, poor Hastille would be mistaken as family to a ‘banshee’ instead of just a ‘lady’. No one visited them for a full year after she’d been made aware of her new nickname.
Life was peaceful for the Kresslers. Until a few years later, when Melissa came of age and Hastille once again found himself in a screaming, chaotic household.
Melissa wanted to marry and even had a few suitors if he was correct, but Miranda, having been by his side before and after his marriage, had some choice words for it. She was against it, vehemently.
“Hastille” Melissa shouted, drawing his attention back from his thoughts. Miranda had broken yet another cup - crushing it in her grip. “Say something!”
“Speak to him properly, girl,” Miranda growled in that dangerously quiet voice. “Disrespect me all you want, but I wont have you talk down to your father.”
“It’s okay Melissa, you don’t have to-” he tried to appease but a glare from Miranda had his eyes rolling in exasperation.
‘Peace? In this household? Oh, Hastille you poor fool,’ he thought.
“Like hell she doesn’t,” Miranda said, standing up. Hastille spring from his sofa and quickly blocked her path. He knew, for as menacing as Miranda was, she would never hurt him.
“Miranda,” he approached calmly, trailing his hands over her arms. “Dear...calm down. She’s just a girl.”
“Exactly, my point,” Miranda said. “She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. Her husband could be fine now, but a few years down the line? You married on a whim and where did that get you? Heartbroken and scarred.”
It did not escape his attention at how her eyes lingered at his neck. The old wound had scarred horribly and looked like a thin, protruding line, a constant reminder of his weakness. He couldn’t help but draw his eyes down to her wrists which, similar to his own had scarred horribly.
“Aren’t you glad we were there for each other?” he whispered
“Exactly my point.” She responded with gravel in her voice. “At least I was there for you, I can’t be there for her, too.”
“You won’t have to,” I said, slowly pushing her back down on her seat. “Mother and Father were never as dominating as you are and after what happened that night, they didn’t see past people’s surfaces.”
Hastille too sat on his chair but continued to hold her hand, making sure to meet her eyes; “But we’re different, we know. You can prepare her for the future and maybe even choose the right one for her”
At this he looked at Melissa for confirmation. Melissa, who up until this point had been looking between them confusedly, just shrugged in response.
“Inspires confidence doesn’t she?” Miranda said, sarcastically. Offensively looking her up and down.
“Hey-“
“That may be,” Hastille interrupted. “But we can’t stop her. You can try, but just as how they couldn’t stop me or you for leaving she’ll eventually leave. Do you want her to leave happily or hating us?”
The conversation went a lot better for the evening after he’d convinced her. And by nightfall they’d already set up a plan.
“Thanks, uncle Hastille,” Melissa said when her mother had gone to cook.
“She needs to be more caring,” Hastille frowned, leaning back on his chair for a short nap.
“...”
“Something wrong?”
“You’re not really my father, are you?” she asked.
“Don’t let your mother hear you say that,” Hastille smirked. “But no. I’m not.”
“Did mother love father?” she asked, kneeling by his side.
“Cut to the chase kiddo. You want to know why he left?” Hastille was forced to lean forward. He looked at her expectantly.
“Mmm,” she nodded, hesitantly.
“I don’t know why your father left. We men...we get lost in lust sometimes or enamoured with another's beauty, and your mother is plenty beautiful to cause young men to make mistakes, not that you’re a mistake. That’s not what I’m saying.” Hastille sighed to clear the air. “I’m just saying people who are not ready to become fathers make the mistake of becoming one too soon. When they realize what they’ve done they start to get an itch in their feet, a fear that something they can’t handle is coming behind them so they run away. Most of the time they never learn to be one; but, when they do become ready...they’re too afraid and guilt-ridden to come back and be the father’s you need them to be. Then it’s up to people like me to step in and take their roles, even if you don’t accept us.”
“I accept-” she quickly began.
“-Your mother…” Hastille interrupted. “She will probably never speak about him. Heck, I don’t even know his name,” he ignored her. “Every time I’ve asked she said ‘I’m happy with you and satisfied to not remember’ or something like that...But that’s me, maybe if you try enough times she’ll answer you.”
With silence hanging in the air Melissa slowly stood up and walked away to join her mother in the kitchen, leaving Hastille to catch that nap. While she lent a hand in making dinner, Melissa gathered her courage and near the end finally asked; “Who is my father?”
A moment of silence followed, as if Miranda hadn’t heard her.
“Mom, who is my father?” Melissa approached nearer. “Mom?”
“I heard what you said,” Miranda waved her away. “I just don’t see the point in answering stupid questions.”
“Mom, I have the right to know,” Melissa said, determined.
“Girl, you-*Sigh* tell me,” Miranda asked, staring at the table. “What makes a man a father?”
“What?”
“Tell me, what makes someone a father? Come on, tell me what you need a father for.”
“A father is...someone who...” Melissa frowned and hesitated at her mother’s odd behaviour. “Takes care of you when you’re young, plays with you when you’re feeling down, loves you even after you get all stupid-angry. A father is someone who helps you grow, takes care of you when you're big enough to take care of yourself, I think? Yeah, that’s what a father should be, right?”
“...”
“Okay fine I don’t know. Come on Mom, what the heck did you ask that for?” Melissa said, crossing her arms.
“...”
“Mom, you’re weirding me out, stop smiling,” she backed away. “You never smile.”
“I smile,” Miranda frowned, her mood soured. She huffed and got back to setting up the table. “But from what you’re saying a father should be...I’m just surprised you didn’t notice that you’ve already had one.”
“...But that’s not what I mean,” Melissa pouted.
“Isn’t it?” Miranda said. “That man sitting in that chair took care of you when you were young, he played with you when I wasn’t willing to and he loved me enough to forgive me even after we had all those arguments and I did all those stupid things, and I’m sure that if you give him the chance he’ll take care of you even after you’re older and stronger than him. So what’s stopping you from accepting him?”
Miranda turned around to face her; “That man is your father, as far as I know there is no other. I’ve accepted it and am happy with it. The only reason he called you his daughter is because of me, don’t punish him for my mistakes. Now go call him for dinner.”
Melissa stood there for a moment, shuffling her feet. Her heart kept telling her that her mother was right, only her mind opposed.
‘He can never be what my real father is...but would my real father be as good as him? What would happen if my real father came back?’ she huffed. ‘It wouldn’t make Uncle Hastille any less my father.’
With her mind made up Melissa walked back to the sitting room.
“Come on dad, dinner’s ready,” she called.
“Coming,” he awoke and spoke without missing a beat.
‘As if he never doubted it otherwise.’
Despite what Melissa thought, things didn’t change much after she’d accepted Hastille as her father. Miranda was still stubborn and Hastille was still playing the middleman between the two women in the house, except now every time she looked at them there was an extra twinkle of warmth in their eyes.
The topic of marriage wasn’t dropped until a poor consort had been vetted by Miranda and subsequently healed by Hastille. Miranda finally left the village, in over 20 years, to attend the marriage in the nearby everglades and had to apologise for every time she attempted homicide on someone for being ‘unlikable’ or ‘looking at Hastille the wrong way’ or ‘calling her banshee’.
“Their kids!” Hastille had reasoned.
“But old enough to know respect,” she’d countered.
Thankfully the ceremonies completed without interruptions, and though Miranda might’ve been embarrassing no one had courage to speak out on it. Eventually the mother-daughter duo got into another argument over the food and Hastille couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie when he saw the groom set in the middle of it all.
‘You’re problem now,’ he’d thought.
Hastille remained by Miranda’s side till the end and lived only a few years after her. Long enough to see the natives replace every trace of his people’s settlement and long enough to see his first grandchild grow and walk. Even though the ‘red-eyed banshee’ had long since passed away their house was left untouched until his own death.
Hastille’s death is still unknown for it coincides too closely with The Great Flood. But it is assumed that he died in his seventh decade, two decades after George’s. But unlike his cousin Hastille’s death wasn’t aided by any ailment.