Two days later, three more people had been found in a mangled ruin scattered about the city. The officials said that it should have been impossible for one man to travel so fast to have done such a thing, but Artemy knew that the killer possessed unexplained abilities. He had witnessed them himself.
The city was recommending that people travel lightly, and to avoid the night altogether. Artemy was rather unbothered by the new curfew, having had no motivation to even attend class since Cassius’s last visit. His heart ached with rejection, and he found himself napping and losing time, trying to sleep his hurt away.
His mother’s letter still rested on the table, unmoved since it had first been opened. On occasion, he had tried to write back to her, but he could form neither a rejection nor an acceptance. All he could think of was, in another life, perhaps, he would have been more free.
The day ticked by slowly, with Artemy doing little more than trying - and failing - to read. He tried to lose himself in the pages of the novel, but his mind constantly drifted, wondering if Cassius would ever forgive him.
Someone knocked at the front door softly, too polite to be either the killer or Cassius, to which he stood curiously. He opened the heavy door, only to see a servant of the Beckett manor standing before him, her brow furrowed as if she were on the edge of tears.
“Are you Mr. Artemy Silvercrest, my lord?” She asked, her voice even more timid than her expression.
“Yes, I am.” He opened the door a bit wider, though she did not move. “Would you like to come in for tea? You look rather distraught, madam, forgive me for saying so.”
She shook her head, though her cheeks reddened from the gesture. “No, m’lord, I cannot stay. I was sent by the young lord Cassius. His illness, m’lord, it only worsens.”
Artemy’s heart did not beat when he shut the door behind him, looking at the carriage awaiting he and the lady. He didn’t even lock the door before he was rushing for the carriage, nearly falling as he climbed in. He did not help the lady - whom was much shorter and smaller than he - into the carriage, to which his face reddened in shame.
To his luck, there was no one else in the carriage to witness such an act, but he still found himself bowing his head in apology to her. “Forgive my brash behavior, my lady. I do believe I was too - too shocked to even think to-“
She shushed him with a smile, patting his hand with her gloved hands. He didn’t realize he was shaking until she was steadying his hand. “It’s quite alright, Mr. Silvercrest. You two must have been close, if you’re this badly affected.”
He looked up at her, his breath hitching in his throat. “‘Must have’?”
She cast him a regretful look, one he would have never wanted to see. “I fear he’ll be gone by the time we arrive. His condition has been declining so quickly, you understand. No one even saw it coming.”
“He was - He was out in the rain a few nights ago,” Artemy said, forcing himself to calm down, to not look at the heartbroken woman before her. “Could that have caused it?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Silvercrest. He was sick before then. He snuck out that night, you see.” She looked at him curiously, cocking her head to the side, her brown curls bouncing as she did so. “How did… How did you know he was out?”
“How did you know?” He asked, feeling a strange tension growing in the enclosed carriage. He suddenly felt claustrophobic, as if the worsening conversation was managing to suck out every drop of air from the carriage.
She gave a small smile. “I caught him afterwards. He told me he was seeing a former lover for the last time. Forgive me for asking such a personal question, Mr. Silvercrest-“
“Oh, no,” he said quickly, too fast to be anything but a poor excuse. “He - I - I live with his lover. Not like that - she’s my sister.” The words stumbled out of his mouth pathetically, to which she only gave him a sympathetic smile.
The carriage stopped, though before the door was opened, she patted his clammy hand, speaking softly. “You needn’t worry, Mr. Silvercrest. The young lord’s business is no one’s but his own - and it’s certainly not mine. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to him.”
Artemy nearly fell out of the carriage, only managing to climb the steps to the manor out of sheer adrenaline and determination, praying to any god that would listen that it was all just an elaborate lie created by Cassius. However, stepping into the immaculate house, Artemy could tell that such was not the case.
Two women were sitting in the parlor, one sniffling politely and the other wailing, the cry echoing in the large halls. The servant guided Artemy passed the two, waiting until she and Artemy climbed the grand staircase to whisper to him. “The sisters of the young lord. I understand they were very close.”
The hall Artemy walked through was dimly lit, and the carpet covering the dark floor was so finely made that their footsteps were soundless. Though most would have thought it to be lovely, Artemy thought the carpet rather resembled blood.
The servant stopped at a set of large doors, taking a breath before gripping the handles. “Are you ready, Mr. Silvercrest?”
“No, my lady,” he said honestly. “But I must go.”
She nodded once before opening the doors, but Artemy already knew it was too late before he even looked upon the bed.
A woman was standing before the bed, her face only barely wrinkled with age. She clenched a handkerchief with dainty hands and slim fingers that had once resembled Cassius’s. She appeared to be distraught, though her grief seemed carefully managed, a calculated sadness as if the lady of the house could not even be seen crying for her only son.
She didn’t notice Artemy arriving, so he carefully stepped over the threshold, speaking softly so as to not alert her. He didn’t know if he could manage to speak any louder, anyhow. “You must be Lady Beckett, I presume. I am terribly sorry we meet at a time like this.”
Lady Beckett lowered the handkerchief from her eye to look at him, her black dress twirling about her as if it, too, was a practiced thing. Artemy always thought nobles were terribly uncanny for their practiced movements, as if anything other than what was expected would be unnatural.
“And you are?” Her voice was lilted, lower than Cassius’s had been with none of his amusement. She was a great deal taller than Artemy, and perhaps it was for this reason that he did not immediately approach.
“My name is Artemy Silvercrest, my lady. Your son was a great friend of mine in university.”
She studied him with eyes narrowed, though Artemy couldn’t tell if she was squinting or if age had narrowed them. In either situation, she was incredibly frightening. “He sent for you. You must have been a terribly beloved friend, indeed.” She paused to raise a bracelet-laden wrist, pointing at the nightstand beside the covered body. “He left you a letter, Mr. Silvercrest. He gave us rather… strict instruction to never open it.”
The way Lady Beckett was staring at him insistently told Artemy that he was expected to just tread up and take the letter, as if walking so close to the bed wouldn’t send him to the ground in grief. He stepped slowly, with one foot in front of the other, though it was considerably easier than expected.
His mind slowed as he glanced at the white sheet on the bed, unable to make out any features except for the pointed nose below. It couldn’t be Cassius - not his Cassius. He was supposed to live until they were ripe old men. It couldn’t have been him to succumb to an unknown disease at not even thirty.
The letter on the nightstand was wax-sealed with the Beckett emblem, though upon closer inspection, Artemy saw that it had once been opened. He recognized the dark blue wax that he had once used, to which he nearly dropped it in disbelief.
Cassius didn’t burn the letter after all. In fact, he had kept it so preserved that he even sealed it for Artemy. As if to try to prove himself wrong, he turned the envelope over, only to find that Cassius had scribbled out his own address and frantically circled Artemy’s, as if giving instruction in case someone had failed to deliver it.
Lady Beckett was staring at him, though evidently she must have thought that he was staring at the body below the sheet, because she began to speak again. “The sickness came rather unexpectedly. Not even the best doctors could understand what it was - only that it wasn’t contagious.”
He didn’t know if he responded, though he must not have said anything offensive for Lady Beckett simply left him alone.
Artemy had evidently been staring at the envelope in such shocked silence that he didn’t even notice the room filling with servants, though some were escorting the two sisters inside. He backed away as Lady Beckett approached the bed, beckoning towards a servant with a wash basin.
“I normally would demand any strangers to the family to leave, Mr. Silvercrest,” she said, turning to give him a sad smile. “But I shall allow you to stay, since Cassius asked for you. We may have never met, but I can tell he valued your friendship.”
She grabbed the sheet with two long fingers, lifting it before Artemy’s eyes. Not even a gasp left his lips as he looked at the white face, the blue lips of Cassius Beckett, eyes closed peacefully for the last time. He was too still, too silent. Artemy at any moment wished he would sit up and say something idiotic.
How he regretted ever once wanting Cassius to shut up.
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