Later that night, Tawny had read the article about the Westinghouse tragedy.
Gloria Westinghouse, age 30, had her life uncharacteristically cut short while on holiday in Prague. She was visiting the Strahov Monastery Library with her young son Dylan in tow; a lifelong student of the arts, and holder of a doctorate of philosophy in Fine Arts from Oxford University, Gloria relished the library's architectural and historical prowess.
Unfortunately, at 12:01 PM on an overcast day in June, lone gunman Gregory Stanfield stormed the library, with Gloria as his main target. He caught her off-guard and shot her at point-blank range, murdering her in cold blood. Mercifully, he did not harm Gloria's son, who was three years old at the time. Before the authorities could apprehend him, Gregory took his own life.
It wasn't until much later when Gregory's home in the States was ransacked for any clues related to the attack. A suicide letter was found tucked between the pages of his well-worn journal. Gregory was married, it had turned out, but estranged from his pregnant wife. Consumed by jealousy, he assumed the baby was not his, but the child of another man, Bryce Westinghouse.
---
The next day, Tawny was summoned back to Westinghouse Manor.
It was Rebecca who drove Tawny yet again. Professor McCurdy was nowhere to be found; Rebecca explained it was due to it being Exam Season and being overwrought with tests and grading, but Tawny couldn't shake the feeling that he was avoiding her since their encounter in the dark a few days prior.
As Tawny ascended the steps for the umpteenth time to Westinghouse Manor, a sense of foreboding overtook her. She wasn't sure why, but she suspected that once she passed this threshold this final time, her very sense of the world was about to be uprooted.
At the top of the steps waited one of the suit-clad security men. Tawny froze, triggered by her unpleasant encounter with the last group of men who had held her hostage.
"Miss Matthews," the man said, opening the door for her. They walked the short distance through the lobby, and then stopped in front of the golden gilded elevator Tawny had seen in the past when she first met Prudence.
"Oh..." Tawny said. "Are we taking this up?"
"Of course," replied the security. "You are our esteemed guest."
They entered the elevator. Once he closed the gate behind them, he pressed the highest button and the elevator slowly climbed to the very top level of Westinghouse Manor.
They were let off on a floor whose aesthetic was very much dark wood and the old rustic hunting lodge. As they walked down the corridor, she was reminded of the time that Dylan invited her into his parlour to negotiate a trade of partners for their English project.
What terrible offer does Dylan have for me this time, she thought bitterly.
They reached a large door at the opposite end of the corridor. The man in the suit opened it and gestured for her to enter.
Tawny obliged, preparing for her usual cat and mouse game with Dylan.
But when the door closed behind her, Tawny realized that the security did NOT follow her inside. She found herself in a room that actually WAS made to look like a hunting lodge. It was a trophy room, and around the perimeter were several heads of slain creatures from various hunting expeditions.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
A large grizzly bearskin rug was splayed on the floor in the centre of the room.
A roaring fire blazed at the opposite end of the room. Right in front of the fireplace was a tall, ornate chair, whose back was facing Tawny. In fact, she could see that someone was sitting in the chair.
Tawny folded her arms. "You never miss an opportunity to show off your impressive wealth, do you?"
The figure in the seat arose; and Tawny instantly blanched. It was not Dylan. Rather, when he turned around, Tawny found herself face to face with the man himself, Bryce Westinghouse.
"Oh..." Tawny said, flustered. "I'm sorry. I thought you were..."
"I know who you thought I was," Bryce said; his voice was even and his face was impassive. "And I know you know who I am. Sit."
His voice was baritone and stately; Tawny felt immediately compelled to obey, sitting at the closest chair she could find.
Bryce walked over to the fireplace and used a poker to stoke the fire to a greater intensity. After several tense of this, he turned around again to face Tawny.
"I've heard a lot about you, Tawny Matthews," Bryce said. "The upstart, unremarkable middle-class girl from the unremarkable Midwest. The pauper student that everyone loves to hate. An easy mark for ridicule and derision, since she did nothing to earn her place except 'win the lottery', so to speak."
If you believe the schoolyard gossip, Tawny wanted to say, but didn't dare interrupt. She realized she was sweating profusely, and she was unsure if it was because of the heat of the room due to the fireplace or because of her own nerves.
When the metal had cooled enough, he placed the business end of the poker into his free hand, brandishing it across his chest as he continued to regard Tawny. "Sounds like you've been nothing but trouble since you've arrived. So tell me why I shouldn't expel right now from Ivoree Gates?"
Tawny's eyes widened. She was avoiding his gaze before, but now her eyes met his in a mixture of shock, confusion, and - to her surprise - anger.
"Because...I've done nothing wrong except exist," Tawny replied, surprised she could keep her voice so even under the immense pressure she was feeling. "And because, I deserve to be here, just as much as the wealthy, entitled students."
Bryce cocked his eyebrow at her response, then gave a little huff as he replaced the fire poker in its original position beside the fireplace. "There it is. The fiery determination of your mother."
What? Tawny was trying to make sense of his words even as Bryce approached her. As he drew close, she noticed the hardened facade on his face softened into something that made him seem melancholic. Vulnerable, even. Soon he was towering above the bemused teenager.
"I see so much of her in you," Bryce said. "And so much of you in Dylan. Truly two sides of the same coin. He attributes our reconciliation in no small part to you."
"I...I wasn't even there," Tawny said lamely, choosing not to mention the encounter she witnessed the other day at the library. "Sarah was the mastermind. I didn't do much."
To Tawny's surprise, Bryce knelt down to her level, and held one of her hands between his own. "My child...you possess more power within yourself than you realize. It was that power that brought you here...against all odds. Don't ever underestimate yourself."
Abruptly, he stood up and turned away from her, and it appeared to Tawny that he was trying to deftly wipe his face. Was he crying? Tawny could not make heads or tails of this reaction, this was certainly not what she expected from man who owned Westinghouse Manor and practically bankrolled Ivoree Gates.
"Your mother," Bryce said. "Faye. She's not well?"
"Yes," Tawny said, nonplussed. "She's in the hospital with a rare blood disorder. But how did you---"
"It's taken care of," Bryce replied. "All of it. And keep your mouth shut. Don't you dare say 'thank you'. Never let those words escape those lips for this broken soul in front of you. Instead, just grant me this one concession. I want you to live. Embrace the bright future that stands before you. Promise me that you'll take this life and live it on your own terms. Devoid of fear, shame, and regret. Promise me that you will do this one thing for me."
Tawny was speechless; she stared at the bear of a man in front of her, unsure how or why he was reacting to her in this way.
"Promise me!" he bellowed, the tenor in voice so great it caused the room to shake despite its vastness.
"I promise," Tawny blurted out. "Yes, I promise!"
Immediately, Bryce's shoulders slumped. His stately demeanor divulged into a posture of frailty and exhaustion, as though the exchange had sapped him of all his energy.
"Good," he said. "Then you have my leave to go."
Tawny couldn't get up fast enough. The security man reappeared to open the door for her and she made her way to the exit. As she left, she glanced over her shoulder to see the Bryce had taken his back at the fireplace, leaning against it and looking intently at the fire that he created.