Abernathy: Chapter 13
The Abernathy Trilogy
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
Abernathy
Chapter 13
Brian
I stare out the carriage window, dimly aware that night has fallen and the stars are coming out. I steal a glance at Deborah, who seems lost in her own thoughts. I am grateful for her silence, for were she to ask a response from me, I could not give one. My tongue seems paralyzed by the taste of my own shame.
In my head I replay every moment I shared with Justin. The mistrust, the misunderstandings…everything with new light shed upon it. Deborah’s story horrified me-the notion that someone could so abuse Justin raises the very bile in my throat. But am I much better than Abernathy? Why did I bring Justin home in the first place? I’ve denied answering the question for so long, but the truth is as obvious as it is terrible. He was beautiful and I wanted him.
After a short time, I begin to see a giant shape loom against the night sky. The closer we get to it, the more of its enormity I see. It is the Abernathy mansion, a sprawling, ominous behemoth that seems to command the very ground it sits upon. We pull up to the gate and are let inside, passing myriad statues and fountains that decorate the grounds.
We disembark, and Deborah bids me wait in the hall while she consults the steward. I cast my eyes about the grand marble staircase and Turkish rugs. Behind me and over the door is a giant painting, larger even than I am. In it sits a nobleman, covered in furs. One bejeweled hand rests on his knee, the other, atop of the head of a wolfhound. I would have to step backwards and crane my neck to see further up the painting, but I cannot. Not even morbid curiosity will compel me to look upon the face that so violated Justin. The story alone will haunt me.
Finally, Deborah returns, a short, peevish man at her side.
"Sir," he addresses me, dripping with condescension. "I have been informed of the mix-up regarding your slave. Do be assured that he has been cared for most appropriately while he has been with us."
"Thank you. Now, if you’ll just show me to him…"
"Ah, unfortunately, sir, you’ll have to wait. Lady Abernathy is presently entertaining some guests for dinner and will be indisposed for a few more hours."
"How does the Lady enter into it?" Deborah asks. "We know it’s his slave, can’t you just go fetch him right now?"
"Not without the Lady’s approval!" he says, indignantly.
"Fine," she huffs, turning to wink at me. "We’ll wait here in the parlor. Where do you have him kept anyhow?"
"Locked upstairs, in one of the master’s old rooms," he answers, with a wave of his hand.
Deborah is struck aghast, as am I, but she composes herself quickly. "Thank you, Phillip." He departs.
"Deborah, please!" I whisper, my hands shaking in agitation. "We must get him out of there!"
"I know, do not fret!" she cries, already making her way out of the room. "I have a plan. You wait here, I will return presently." She departs, and I am left alone in the parlor, pacing and wiping my brow.
She returns momentarily, handing me a key and a candle. "Come, I will show you how to get upstairs. I had a duplicate made of that key as soon as the master was gone, and have hidden it in the kitchen since."
I follow her through several rooms, to the kitchen, and a narrow passageway beyond it.
"Behind this door you will find an old staircase," she instructs. "No one uses it, so look sharp for rats. It will lead you up to the north wing. All the rooms there are empty, but servants are about, so mind you go quietly. I will wait in the parlor should Phillip return. Go, now!"
She runs off, and I head upstairs, my heart pounding with nervous energy. Finally I find myself in the hall she spoke of, pitch dark save for my candle. I try the key on the first door I see, and the lock opens with a satisfying pop. I enter the room, and close the door behind me.
The shadows cast by my candle dance eerily around the still-furnished room. I shine light into the corner nearest me, startled to find the huddled body of Justin there on the floor. His arms are wrapped about his knees and covering his face.
"Justin?" I venture at a whisper, approaching his shaking form. "Justin, it’s me, Brian."
He looks up tentatively, and his eyes widen. "Master?" he issues, his voice disbelieving. "Is it you?"
"Yes," I smile, crouching down before him. He throws himself at me, suddenly, arms fastening around my waist. For a moment I steady myself, so as not to drop the candle, before wrapping my arms around him in return. I am overwhelmed by the relief I feel, just to hold him, and have him safe!
I bury my face in his soft hair, and find that he is still shaking. I pull back some to discover that he is crying, and struggling to talk.
"Master, I am so sorry…" he chokes between sobs. "I did as you asked. You must believe me! I swear, I did not try to run off! Please believe me…"
"Justin, I believe you. I know what happened. I know…everything. It is my fault that this happened to you."
"No," he shakes his head against my chest.
"Yes, Justin." I pull him slightly away so that I can see his face. I wipe a tear from his cheek and smile. "Let me take the blame for once. It was a foolish thing I did."
"It was a kind thing you did. I knew then that you trusted me. And I was so terrified when I could not get back to you! I knew what you’d think of me…"
Now I am the one shaking my head. "If I doubted you, Justin, I was wrong to do it. I do trust you." He looks at me with tear-filled eyes, and I can see the fear still there. Fear of this place.
"Justin. I must go back downstairs and wait for the Lady to give me permission to take you home. But I will be back as soon as…"
"No, master, please!" He grabs my arm desperately. "Please don’t leave me alone in here."
I regard him for a moment, his eyes begging mine to understand what he isn’t saying. I know it all too well.
"Justin. I’ve spoken with Deborah." His eyes widen at her name.
I continue, "She’s told me some of what’s happened here. I know what you fear…"
His eyes take on a haunted, distant look. "He told me he’d find me, wherever I was. He told me if I ever got away, he’d find me and take me back." His eyes turn on me, now frantically. "And here I am, right back in his house! Please, you cannot leave me here!"
"Justin," I take his hand, desperate to allay his fear. "Deborah also told me something else. Shortly after you were taken from here, they received word from America. He’s dead, Justin. He’s not coming back."
He stares at me without seeing, his eyes dark. Finally, he closes them and a single tear slips down his cheek. I pull him towards me, gently, tucking his head under my chin.
"I won’t leave you alone," I assure him. "I’ll stay right here with you."
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
Abernathy
Chapter 13
Brian
I stare out the carriage window, dimly aware that night has fallen and the stars are coming out. I steal a glance at Deborah, who seems lost in her own thoughts. I am grateful for her silence, for were she to ask a response from me, I could not give one. My tongue seems paralyzed by the taste of my own shame.
In my head I replay every moment I shared with Justin. The mistrust, the misunderstandings…everything with new light shed upon it. Deborah’s story horrified me-the notion that someone could so abuse Justin raises the very bile in my throat. But am I much better than Abernathy? Why did I bring Justin home in the first place? I’ve denied answering the question for so long, but the truth is as obvious as it is terrible. He was beautiful and I wanted him.
After a short time, I begin to see a giant shape loom against the night sky. The closer we get to it, the more of its enormity I see. It is the Abernathy mansion, a sprawling, ominous behemoth that seems to command the very ground it sits upon. We pull up to the gate and are let inside, passing myriad statues and fountains that decorate the grounds.
We disembark, and Deborah bids me wait in the hall while she consults the steward. I cast my eyes about the grand marble staircase and Turkish rugs. Behind me and over the door is a giant painting, larger even than I am. In it sits a nobleman, covered in furs. One bejeweled hand rests on his knee, the other, atop of the head of a wolfhound. I would have to step backwards and crane my neck to see further up the painting, but I cannot. Not even morbid curiosity will compel me to look upon the face that so violated Justin. The story alone will haunt me.
Finally, Deborah returns, a short, peevish man at her side.
"Sir," he addresses me, dripping with condescension. "I have been informed of the mix-up regarding your slave. Do be assured that he has been cared for most appropriately while he has been with us."
"Thank you. Now, if you’ll just show me to him…"
"Ah, unfortunately, sir, you’ll have to wait. Lady Abernathy is presently entertaining some guests for dinner and will be indisposed for a few more hours."
"How does the Lady enter into it?" Deborah asks. "We know it’s his slave, can’t you just go fetch him right now?"
"Not without the Lady’s approval!" he says, indignantly.
"Fine," she huffs, turning to wink at me. "We’ll wait here in the parlor. Where do you have him kept anyhow?"
"Locked upstairs, in one of the master’s old rooms," he answers, with a wave of his hand.
Deborah is struck aghast, as am I, but she composes herself quickly. "Thank you, Phillip." He departs.
"Deborah, please!" I whisper, my hands shaking in agitation. "We must get him out of there!"
"I know, do not fret!" she cries, already making her way out of the room. "I have a plan. You wait here, I will return presently." She departs, and I am left alone in the parlor, pacing and wiping my brow.
She returns momentarily, handing me a key and a candle. "Come, I will show you how to get upstairs. I had a duplicate made of that key as soon as the master was gone, and have hidden it in the kitchen since."
I follow her through several rooms, to the kitchen, and a narrow passageway beyond it.
"Behind this door you will find an old staircase," she instructs. "No one uses it, so look sharp for rats. It will lead you up to the north wing. All the rooms there are empty, but servants are about, so mind you go quietly. I will wait in the parlor should Phillip return. Go, now!"
She runs off, and I head upstairs, my heart pounding with nervous energy. Finally I find myself in the hall she spoke of, pitch dark save for my candle. I try the key on the first door I see, and the lock opens with a satisfying pop. I enter the room, and close the door behind me.
The shadows cast by my candle dance eerily around the still-furnished room. I shine light into the corner nearest me, startled to find the huddled body of Justin there on the floor. His arms are wrapped about his knees and covering his face.
"Justin?" I venture at a whisper, approaching his shaking form. "Justin, it’s me, Brian."
He looks up tentatively, and his eyes widen. "Master?" he issues, his voice disbelieving. "Is it you?"
"Yes," I smile, crouching down before him. He throws himself at me, suddenly, arms fastening around my waist. For a moment I steady myself, so as not to drop the candle, before wrapping my arms around him in return. I am overwhelmed by the relief I feel, just to hold him, and have him safe!
I bury my face in his soft hair, and find that he is still shaking. I pull back some to discover that he is crying, and struggling to talk.
"Master, I am so sorry…" he chokes between sobs. "I did as you asked. You must believe me! I swear, I did not try to run off! Please believe me…"
"Justin, I believe you. I know what happened. I know…everything. It is my fault that this happened to you."
"No," he shakes his head against my chest.
"Yes, Justin." I pull him slightly away so that I can see his face. I wipe a tear from his cheek and smile. "Let me take the blame for once. It was a foolish thing I did."
"It was a kind thing you did. I knew then that you trusted me. And I was so terrified when I could not get back to you! I knew what you’d think of me…"
Now I am the one shaking my head. "If I doubted you, Justin, I was wrong to do it. I do trust you." He looks at me with tear-filled eyes, and I can see the fear still there. Fear of this place.
"Justin. I must go back downstairs and wait for the Lady to give me permission to take you home. But I will be back as soon as…"
"No, master, please!" He grabs my arm desperately. "Please don’t leave me alone in here."
I regard him for a moment, his eyes begging mine to understand what he isn’t saying. I know it all too well.
"Justin. I’ve spoken with Deborah." His eyes widen at her name.
I continue, "She’s told me some of what’s happened here. I know what you fear…"
His eyes take on a haunted, distant look. "He told me he’d find me, wherever I was. He told me if I ever got away, he’d find me and take me back." His eyes turn on me, now frantically. "And here I am, right back in his house! Please, you cannot leave me here!"
"Justin," I take his hand, desperate to allay his fear. "Deborah also told me something else. Shortly after you were taken from here, they received word from America. He’s dead, Justin. He’s not coming back."
He stares at me without seeing, his eyes dark. Finally, he closes them and a single tear slips down his cheek. I pull him towards me, gently, tucking his head under my chin.
"I won’t leave you alone," I assure him. "I’ll stay right here with you."