Conscience

Nicholas felt his fingers burn from exhaustion. His eyes widened as he shuffled through the pile of letters that seemed to never lessen. He individually picked each one, quickly grazing his eyes over the cover of the letter, then tossing it away.

Nicholas became so engrossed in this activity that he hadn't heard his mother's footsteps in the doorway. Though all she did was stare at his futile attempts of finding the letter.

Nicholas picked another letter. "From: Mr. Morrison," he read before throwing it behind him. With a simple glance behind him, he acknowledged her presence, and she sighed, the glass of wine lazily held in her hand. She was drunk.

"We just buried Michael" The young Nicholas said, disappointed and discontent with her attitude.

"He was dead long before that, sweetheart," said Catherine as she leaned into the champagne glass, taking a sip that echoed in the large room. Even under the chandeliers gleaming torch, the absurdly large room seemed to scatter the light, depriving the young boy of any light.

"You could have waited till tomorrow. The guests are still coming in," he suggested as he continued scanning each piece of paper. Catherine scoffed, "My oldest son just died, that's the least of my concerns," she rolled her eyes, spilling the drink on her black dress. She seethed as the drink stained the callous black fabric.

Nicholas went silent, his hold on each letter seeming to weaken. Under the tall lights that seemed to lose their intensity before touching the floor, Nicholas' eyes strained. His eyes began to blur, he felt himself drowse, and his shoulders slouched in defeat.

"It's useless what you're doing," Catherine remarked, her demeanor rather calm.

"I saw it here, it was right here!" he was frustrated, running his hand over his face in an attempt to wash away the sleep.

"What did you say her name was again?" Catherine asked, she had now slid down the door, sitting at the base of its frame, her head bobbing to one side of her shoulder.

"I don't remember" he sighed, utter disdain in his voice as he threw the final letter out. "I'd tell it apart from the others if I would just find it" he groaned in frustration, finally laying back on the wooden floor, relieving his back. The two were separated by a single sofa, of which the royal blue covers threatened to come off. A soft glow lit up the room from the chandelier, and from behind the heavy curtains, the blue sky mourned with the Vials that day. A heavy yet soft rain had come to pass, yet the thunders remained.

"If you remember the contents of the letter, why bother searching for it?" she gulped.

"There might be something I overlooked," he replied.

"There is no need to use your brain when you have money, sweetheart. They have already taken in Mr. Sherrels' boy," Catherine said, her speech becoming a jumbled mess, but she refused to put the glass down.

"What if they are wrong?" Nicholas sighed, "Sherrels was so drunk he couldn't count to ten yet he supposedly killed Michael," Nicholas sounded disturbed. The boy who was once lying down sat up, his mind running amuck with thoughts and ideas. "Did you see the cut on his wrist? It was so clean," he sounded fascinated, his eyes darted to his mother who was practically laying on the floor, her glass of wine now spilling in slow pints onto the carpeted floor.

"You don't have to be sober to cut clean" Catherine hummed. Her figure absolutely battered and broken.

"Mr. Carols came to offer his condolences, he said he was impressed by your record," Catherine breathed before voicing her next sentence. "He said he'll work for your early admission in Doane" Catherine said in a blur of words. Her eyes darted to Nicholas, who immediately shot up from the carpet.

"But that's not possible, I haven't completed my schooling yet" he said, almost disappointed in the prospect.

"Your father said it'll be taken care of" Catherine's voice came in a soft whisper. Nicholas knew she was to be left alone or he would have to hear her babble nonsense all over again.

"I'm too young" Nicholas said to no one in particular. He was aware of the implications, he was aware of his father's plan. His father wasted no time in finding a replacement son and Nicholas was old enough to understand the consequence of his desires

"The heir is never too young" Catherine cooed. For once, in her drunken haze, she said something that wisened up a child. Her words resonated against the tall walls and Nicholas was left wondering what upset him so much about the them. "I'll try my best" said he, a small boy with no sense of the words he spoke.

Catherine simply hummed in response, her eyes sealed shut. "You were almost my brightest child," she said in a whisper as she gasped for air before falling face first onto the warm carpet.

The silence made Nicholas ears ring; he was once again left in the pile of letters, hoping that he had come to the right conclusion.

It was not a drunken accident that killed Michael, it was not a villain in plain sight and it was certainly not Compton Sherrels that killed Michael. It was something beyond that, and he worried it was beyond his understanding.