He used the same strategy at the estate, quietly going along, but always watching and observing others. Always learning. Always plotting his revenge.
Buried deep inside of him was a sharp bone of contention, festering among the boiling bile that rolled through his belly and threatened to come spewing out. But as the years passed, he became a master at keeping it down. He held it all inside, knowing there would come a day when all that anger would explode out of him, and also knowing, once it did, there would be no turning back. So he bit his tongue and bided his time until he was ready to leave it all behind.
As terrible as the worst days were, he still needed security. He was only a boy with no way of living on his own. His mother was sick. He couldn’t rely on her, but she relied on him. At least here, at the estate, he was able to read books and stay warm, which was better than freezing in ignorance, he supposed.
The chancellor loved to bully those who were smaller than him, and whenever anyone tried to appear bigger or smarter, they were berated to no end by the man they so blindly worshipped. As Jack grew under the chancellor’s nose, he sometimes caught him taking his measure, eyes narrowing.
“You have something you want to say, boy,” he’d ask in that challenging tone Jack knew all too well.
“No, sir,” he’d respond with zero emotion, defusing the situation.
“Good.”
Others mistook his cruelty for a show of strength. But Jack saw him for exactly what he was, a bully.
Marco, the chancellor’s right hand, witnessed his boss’s endlessly badgering more than anyone, but never did anything to stop it. Even at twelve, Jack knew he would never stay as long as Marco had.
Mr. Carrow once told Jack that Marco had been a champion for the people, a moral voice, and a man of principle. Jack couldn’t imagine him as anyone’s hero. He was the husk of a man, too weak to lift his head or look anyone in the eye. A constant reminder to Jack that complacency could shackle a man in guilt and shame as much as any evil deed could.
And in the end, Marco’s weakness destroyed him anyway--
“Is the room to your liking, sir?” Nick’s words echoed like the howl of a ghost, jolting Jack out of the past and into the present. “Sir?” Nick cleared his throat.
Jack stared over The Preserve, his mind too far away to truly hear what his friend just asked. He glanced back at his loyal companion, who tsked and shook his head.
“Daydreaming, I see.”
Jack chuckled. Caught. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
“So I see. I asked if the room was to your liking.”
“The room is fine, Nick. Thank you.”
“Very good. I’ve brought the books you requested and a few extras I thought you might enjoy.” He withdrew the stack from his battered leather satchel and placed it on the nightstand by the mammoth bed.
“Thank you.” As always, whenever he tried to express his gratitude, the words were not enough. Some debts couldn’t be repaid with language. They could only be honored through loyalty. “How do you find your room?”
Nick looked over the rim of his glasses as if already deeming his response inconsequential.
“Don’t give me that look.”
“My room is more than fine, sir.”
Jack chuckled, returning his attention to the view. Preferring it over the Gothic suite with vaulted ceilings that stretched behind him. The Preserve was a private sanctuary within the medieval grandeur, the perfect setting for the hunt ahead. Acres upon acres stretched between coastlines, assuring the privacy necessary.
Walls had a way of closing in on Jack. He longed to escape even the largest spaces. Standing under the evening sky as it faded from piercing shades of violet to sapphire hues, he breathed in the vastness, knowing such calm would soon be destroyed as the other guests arrived.
He would greet them accordingly, then retreat back to his sanctuary to oversee the festivities. The suite was so well-appointed that a person could survive there for days, completely at ease.
A grand king-sized bed dominated one wall, draped in velvet garnet curtains that hung from the ornately carved wood canopy. Leather chairs formed a seating area before the gaping fireplace where steady flames crackled. A wet bar gleamed in the corner with crystal decanters. A fantasy for many, yet he still preferred the balcony.
The stone terrace offered an unobstructed view of the grounds below. Manicured gardens and paths wove through the greens, forming a labyrinth carved among endless hedgerows.
Fog machines positioned at strategic intervals waited to transform the estate into something from a fever dream. Fire pits would glow like torches among the dotted green lanterns that lined the property as far as the eye could see. And the air would take on the scent of fear and lust.
Adrenaline. He grinned, knowing that specific sensation when freedom dangled within reach, and the mind decided any cost was worth the means to an end.
“The weather report came in.” Nick approached, withdrawing a leather portfolio tucked under his arm.
