Chapter Text
The Brothers
“It doesn’t seem like a fake, Mikey.” Gerard said to his little brother, exasperated by his unwavering suspicion.
”But just think about it, when have they ever sent us letters? This has to be some kind of trick.” Michael —or, affectionately, Mikey— said from his position in front of the glowing fireplace, re-reading the letter for the hundredth time.
”The letter is from their executor of will, not them.” Gerard said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Mikey was silent for a moment. “Well, I still don’t like it. I didn’t even know they owned another manor.”
”Nor did I, but did they ever really tell us anything?”
”No, I suppose not.” He sighed.
He got up off the floor and climbed into the small bed across from Gerards.
His legs hung off the end, and there wasn’t enough room to bring his knees to his chest. Gerard had offered numerous times to give up his own bed and conjoin it with Mikey’s, but he refused to let his elder brother sleep on the cold, hard floor.
”I have some money saved away for emergencies. We can use it to book passage back to Edinburgh.” Gerard said, staring up at the ceiling.
The two of them ran away to London when Mikey was thirteen, and Gerard was sixteen. It was difficult, and they nearly froze to death during their first winter, but they managed to get work in a newspaper factory that still operated on child labor.
They rented a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, laden with rats and wood-rot. But anything was better than living with their parents. Anything.
”We’ll lose our jobs if we go.” Mikey bluntly said.
”We won’t need our jobs if we go. We could sell the manor for just half it’s value and still walk away richer than we would ever be from working at the mill.”
”I don’t know, Gerard. It feels wrong, benefiting from their death. I mean, I know they were awful, but we haven’t spoken to them in nearly six years, and now we’re going to sell their house?” His voice was tight.
Gerard laid silent in bed. He understood where his brother was coming from, he really did. But he knew that his perception of them had been skewed over the years. He had even caught him trying to send them a letter a few months ago.
”Do you remember the night before your eleventh birthday?” Gerard asked, turning to look at him. “Remember what they did to you?”
Mikey went tense. The memory of being punched by his father, and his mother locking him in the cold, dark cellar had been burned into his brain for eternity.
”Yes.” He quietly said
”Do you still feel bad for profiting for their deaths?”
He hesitated.
”No.”
The conversation ended, and they both drifted off to sleep.
Gerard was woken by the light of the early sunset creeping through the window. His brother was still fast asleep, so he took the opportunity to pack their things.
They didn’t have many personal items. Just a few pieces of stolen art from their family home, and clothes that they shared between the two of them.
He pulled the leather case out of the bottom of the cupboard. It was the same one they took with them on that awful, beautiful night.
He carefully folded their clothes, and placed the small framed paintings on top. It was so different from the last time he packed it.
He remembered it like it was yesterday. His father had just beaten him black and blue, and his mother had smashed a vase over his head. All because he befriended a scullery maid. He and his brother finally decided to leave that wretched place once and for all.
He shook his head, casting the memory from his mind. He had moved on from it, he really had. It didn’t matter that he flinched anytime someone raised a hand near him, or that he still got nightmares. He had a new life now, a good life. He wasn’t going to let his parents continue to torture him from the grave.
He closed the case and placed it by the door.
”Why are you already awake?” Mikey tiredly said, stretching his arms out above his head.
”Packing our things. We should leave today, or the executor might think we aren’t coming. We got the letter two weeks ago, after all.”
Mikey groaned and pushed his head into his pillow.
”Great, I’m so terribly excited for the eight hour train ride.” Mikey said sarcastically, voice muffled by the pillow.
Gerard huffed a small laugh, and pulled the blankets off his brother.
”Get up, the trains leave just before noon.” He said, and barely stifled a laugh when Mikey started squirming from the sudden coldness.
”You’re such a prick.” Mikey spat.
”A loveable prick.” Gerard added.
After Mikey begrudgingly got dressed, they headed for the train station.
The tickets cost far more than they were expecting, leaving them with almost no money to spare for food.
The train seats were ridiculously uncomfortable, and the cabin was freezing. Halfway through the journey, Mikey sweared he may die of boredom. And by the time they reached Edinburgh, Gerard had to perform a fake funeral for Mikey’s sanity on the side of the train tracks.
People in the station stared at the strange men, one of which was reciting a made-up prayer from an imaginary book, and the other who was laughing his arse off.
They finished up the fake funeral, and headed inside the station. It was then that they realised they had absolutely no idea where the manor was.
”We could try to find the executors office?” Mikey suggested. “It would have to be somewhere in the city, right?”
”Do executors even have offices?”
”No idea. I didn’t even know what an executor was until we got the letter.”
The two of them stood there in confusion, trying to think of a solution.
”Lets just ask someone, i’m sure at least one person has heard of it.” Gerard said, before approaching an eccentric looking man in a talk hat.
”Excuse me, Sir. Me and my brother were just wondering if you had any idea where the Calton Manor is?”
The man looked at him is if he had just asked what colour his undergarments were.
”Why on earth would you want to go there?” The man spat.
The brothers looked at each-other in confusion. The man gathered that the two of them didn’t have the faintest clue what he was talking about.
”Calton Manor is reportedly the most haunted building in Scotland. It’s said that the ghosts of murdered men still roam the halls, seeking vengeance on those who wronged them.” The man said.
Gerard had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. That was one of the most preposterous things he had ever heard. He asked again for directions, and they went on their way. The man stared at them as they walked out of the station, shaking his head.
It was night when they arrived at the house. It was old, with a crumbling roof and discoloured bricks.
Gerard wondered why his parents had ever wanted to own this place. They were the poshest people in the world, and wouldn’t stand for anything less than perfect. This place was anything but perfect.
They walked through the overgrown garden and approached the front door. It had a yellowed letter stuck to it that read,
’Gerard and Michael Way,
I regret to say that I am unable to personally show you through the house, as I have numerous affairs of the utmost importance that require my immediate attention. You will find a copy of your parents last will and testament inside the house,
Regards,
George Cuthbert.’
Gerard sighed. The lack of care towards the ordeal was greatly showing of their parents disdain for them, and further fuelled his curiosity of why they had inherited the place.
”You would think that we would have to at least sign something.” Mikey dryly said, reaching for the rusted doorhandle.
To their surprise, the house was left unlocked. The door squeaked as it opened, revealing a dark hallway, with walls coated in dust and unusually coloured stains.
The floorboards creaked under their feet as they walked through the house, trying not to trip over anything due to the lack of light.
They found what seemed to be an office, and lit the oil lamp that sat on the desk.
Warm light encased the dark room, revealing a framed portrait of their parents, stained with a splatter of dried blood.