“But…what if something happens?” he asked, voice shaking. “What about your soul?”
“My soul?” Edith chuckled, though her smile dropped when she saw the sincerity in her brother’s eyes. “Oh, Augustine. Do not fear for my soul. It is in nobody’s hands but mine.” When August didn’t budge, Edith let out a long and weighted sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t say these things out loud. I just need some rest.”
August stepped closer, carefully inspecting his sister. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, little brother.” Clearly sensing August’s apprehension, Edith reached out and wrapped him in an embrace, whispering the next words into his ear. “I promise.”
But when she hugged August, he felt her heart hammering in her chest, her pulse beating like the frenetic wings of a hummingbird. And though he could not see his sister’s face…he knew exactly what she was staring at.
He knew her eyes were locked on that study window.
August tried desperately to cling to the memory, but it faded before he could watch what happened next, drifting within the invisible current. A new one took its place from one breath to the next.
The one he had tried so desperately to forget.
The door to the kitchen was ajar. August took a step inside, peering around the corner. His sister didn’t notice him at first, her lips lifted into a serene and placid smile as she poured a cup of tea. When he stepped forward, the old wood creaked beneath his weight and his sister’s head snapped up in surprise.
“Augustine. I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.” He approached the counter, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. “But I heard you down here.”
“Go back to bed.” Edith set the teacup on a tray, stirring the liquid inside with a silver spoon. “Father is in one of his moods. It is best you stay in your room and out of his way.”
“Is that for him?”
“Chamomile tea with a splash of rye and valerian.” She winked, stepping around the counter. “I am hopeful it will be enough to calm his nerves and send him to sleep.”
“Let me come with you—”
“No,” Edith interjected, pausing beneath the doorway. “If he lashes out, I’d rather it be me than you.” She offered him an apologetic smile. “Please, Augustine. Just go to bed.”
August conceded with a nod and watched as Edith made her way upstairs, her footsteps receding. He was moments away from walking back to his bedroom when he noticed the empty glass vial on the counter.
He picked it up, lifting it toward one of the iron sconces lining the walls. The label had been partially scratched off, but he could just make out the writing. Squinting, he read what was written upon the vial.
Arsenic.
And Edith had poured the entire bottle into their father’s tea.
August scrambled out of the kitchen, running up the stairs so fast he nearly slipped, barely catching himself on the railing. He gasped, picking up his pace, panic clouding his judgment. And before he could stop himself, before he could even decipher what he was about to do, he stumbled into his father’s study.
Edith stood next to their father, a hand on his shoulder. He had lifted the teacup to his lips and begun to take a sip when Augustfirst stepped into the room. Upon seeing August, their father froze, the edge of the teacup pressed against his mouth.
“Augustine…” Edith’s face contorted in confusion. “I thought I said to—” Her voice caught in her throat when she noticed the glass vial in her brother’s hand. She tried to hide her reaction, quickly averting her gaze, but it was too late.
Their father had noticed.
“Come here,” he instructed, motioning August forward. “Hand me that.”
What happened next, August couldn’t quite remember. The memory sped up and slowed down, warping like a fun-house mirror. The scene jolted, staccato, each moment flashing from one heartbeat to the next.
His father realizing what had been poured into his tea.
His hands gripping Edith’s neck.
August slamming his fists against their father’s back.
The unfathomable pain as his father threw him to the floor and snapped his leg in half.
