It did not.
“None of it matters,” the boy whispered to himself over and over.
Octavius Button was a lot of things. He was bright, stubborn, mercilessly talented. But more than anything, he was a boy who did not want his father to die.
“None of it matters,” Leontes Button said, repeating his son’s incantations back to him. “You’re right. I think you get that sort of clarity when you’re finally forced to look death in the eye. You don’t have to attend any more balls when I’m gone. I can see that you loathe these events as much as you loathe me, and so I will not force you to commiserate any longer.”
Octavius looked at his father then;reallylooked at him in a way he hadn’t since he was a young boy. His father, who was now old and gray and withering. Octavius did not loathe his father. That was his problem. He couldn’t hate the man even if he tried. And that was the thing about their father; he never got that about any of them. Never truly saw them.
Mr. Button moved another chess piece absentmindedly. It had always been his favorite piece—the pawn.
“About your share of the inheritance… I plan to restore the parts that were once lost and will even grant you a sizable bonus.”
Octavius knew his father was dying, but the old man was never this generous. He narrowed his eyes. “Why would you do that? You said that part of my inheritance was lost to me forever when I went to boarding school.”
Mr. Button’s fingertips dangled over a row of black pawns as he deliberated on his next move.
“I know what I said. But terms and conditions can change when you negotiate. You should know this, my child,” Mr. Button said, making his next move boldly. “I would like a favor though, in exchange for the restoration of your inheritance, of course.”
“What is it?” Octavius’s red, wet face glared down at the old man at the desk, who wasn’t looking at him any longer—instead, his eyes were focused squarely on the board, where he was moving pieces around in quick succession.
When he seemed pleased with where the game was heading, he finally looked up into the fractured, shimmering gaze of his son.
“I would like you to kill me.”
5:53P.M.—THE BUTTON MANOR
Octavius Button was outsidedreaming.
In the aftermath of finding out that their father was even more of a villain than they had initially thought, his siblings had all stormed back inside, while Octavius happily remained in the gardens. Even Evie and Anwar had left, so he was truly out here on his own.
The confrontation seemed pointless in the end. It didn’t help any of them get any closer to any answers; it just made the reality of their lives even more depressing. Still, it seemed everyone else preferred to be trapped inside the Manor, rather than staying out here where the ugly truth about their father and Perdita’s birth mom still floated about in the cold and bitter late-November air.
Better out here than in there, he thought. At least out here there were no officers roaming around, watching him closely. No siblings fighting. No annoyed guests who looked at him with accusatory glares, like they felt he was the one responsible for all of the day’s tragedies. His mind flashed to Evie, who kept looking at him in the same way, like she could see into his corrupted soul.
Out here was safe. No one to judge him. Just himself and the small bottle of gin he’d stolen earlier. Octavius was now slumped over on a patch of damp grass by the tiles, still wet from the rainstorm last night, staring up at the darkening sky.
In the distance he could hear the sound of the horses neighing restlessly in the stables and then closer, the sound of footsteps on tile.
He looked up to see the harsh lines and unsentimental expression of his brother standing over him.
“Billy!” Octavius said.
“Octavius,” Bilal replied coldly, looking out into the large expanse of the Manor’s grounds. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled-up joint and lighter.
Octavius couldn’t quite believe what he was witnessing.
“You’re staring,” Bilal said.
“You’re smoking.”
Bilal raised an eyebrow at Octavius. “Didn’t realize you were a nun.”
I assumed you were one, Octavius thought but didn’t say out loud. “I’m not…,” he said, as he continued to stare at his brother in disbelief. Bilal was the most health-conscious person he knew. He had to be, for his career. That meant no excessive drinking, no illegalmood enhancers, and absolutely no smoking. Octavius remembered that when they had both lived at the Manor, Bilal was up bright and early at 5:00 every morning doing drills and working out for hours before breakfast. He’d even made a point to have the same three meals every day, having perfectly calculated the optimum amount of protein, carbs, and fiber he needed. He never deviated from his meal plans or schedule. He used to care so much about himself and others.
There was a darkness at Bilal’s edges now, like there was a permanent thundercloud following him around.
He wondered what on earth had happened to his brother since he’d last seen him? He didn’t seem like himself at all. Maybe when Bilal broke his leg, he had also broken something inside of his personality too. Theuptightbone perhaps.
