The estate lands haven't been kept at all since Grandma Ruth passed. From the distance, the manor is intact, no missing archways or roofs, and as the car draws nearer, the characteristic high towers of the Winstate Mansion have points that appear freshly sharpened. The place itself has a long-founded history, of all the marvels of mankind honed to build a paradise. Its legacy is its dominion over nature, and Nathan can believe it. Centuries have passed and the mansion remains the hounding master of the surrounding forest. The trees, they curve away in their bent bodies, their branches skewed around to angles most painful. To Nathan, it seems that these trees are cowering, covering their faces.

The driveway is swept clean, smooth stones are laid perfectly that there are no bumps when the car travels on. With the small outcropping of cherry blossom trees scraggly due to neglect, Nathan has nothing to admire for its beauty other than the mansion that grows larger by the second.

In one mellow turn of the driver’s arm, the car passes by the garden; the blurred shapes of decorative bushes have jutting rough edges. Worst of all, Grandma Ruth's prized tea roses have more thorn than flower. Even if Nathan has no interest in botany the sore sight is a tad unpleasant. He notices the brambles from inside the car, getting a closer glimpse at an outlying rose bush when the driver revolves the car to park a few feet away from the entrance.

The keys turn, the engine dies, and the driver pulls off his gloves. In succinct order that could have only come from routine, the driver opens his door and as Nathan is reaching for his own handle, the driver speaks up.

"Let me get that for you, young master."

Nathan twists his mouth in a corner. "Mr. Edwards, you don't have to—" Nathan sighs when the elderly gentleman is already rounding the back end of the car. His gait is long and even that in a mere moments, he opens the rear passenger door and holds it open for Nathan.

“To what?” The man grins under his thick, fanned-out gray mustache. Nathan rolls his eyes but keeps a professional smile, climbing out of the car.

"To call me 'young master', at least." Nathan says, reaching behind him to pull out his wallet but the man has already pushed his hand down. “Mr. Edwards, please, at least let me pay.” His voice takes on a strain, causing it to sound higher than it is. Nathan hates it. He sounds, what's the word…? Right. Petulant.

After several attempts, Nathan is finally fifty dollars poorer and fifty percent more at ease. Mr. Edwards’ front coat pocket bulges out, and as he pats it, a giggle espouses from the gentleman. He chuckles, but it's not a small polite one of business. It's so boisterous that his mustache shakes. It’s refreshing.

“Ah, you’ve always been so strange, Master Lee.”

Mr. Edwards opens the trunk and steps back, just as Nathan is crowding in. In this exchange, he allows Nathan to take up the sole luggage bag, but his gaze is trained in waiting. Nathan understands this. Under this false camaraderie is the expectation that the old hierarchy is to stay. Nathan hates disappointment, being both the giver and receiver.

The flat out stare on his back is seeping into his skin and entering his bones. The pierce has Nathan quicken his pace, walking up the small set of stairs to an imposing door. One that might be made for giants, most likely. The obscene richness is shocking, especially in a place of ruin.

"The manor has been already cleaned as much as possible," Mr. Edwards catches his breath as he stands on a lower rung of the stairs. Nathan wishes that the man would stand level with him.

“But not the garden.” Nathan isn’t arguing.

“No, not the garden,” Mr. Edwards rubs at the end of his mustache and clears his throat, his discomfort showing as one end of his mustache starts to knot up. “That gardener stopped showing up after… we tried to contact him, but…”

Nathan eschews the morbid curiosity that's already bubbling within him. No, not today. He comes up with a simple reply, “It’s alright, I’m sorry I asked.”

Mr. Edwards nods, and his hand leaves the poor mustache alone.

“Well,” the old man starts.

“Well,” says Nathan also.

“If you need anything, I believe you have my number, young master? The late Madame Winstate—she was the one who instructed that I provide my—”

“Mr. Edwards, thank you but I’m sure that the Winstate Chateau in Short Hills needs you best. They would be unapologetically sour that their most efficient and prized chamberlain has also become part of my inheritance.” 

Nathan gives Mr. Edwards a firm nod. His hand is itching to delve into his coat pocket and take out the key. His eyes drift again to the door. The lock. Glancing back, Nathan sees that Mr. Edwards’ mustache has gone limp. Nathan’s stomach throbs.

Feelings. They’ll kill him; that’s a certainty.

“But, uh... I’m sure that Krista has the number and if I need you, I’ll be… I’ll be contacting you.” Nathan says, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. The sudden cool contact with the metal has his hands recoil.

Some bounce returns to the mustache and the old man grins. His hands neatly lie on the lapels of his suit, and Nathan sees the network of veins like a New York subway map underneath Mr. Edwards’ thin skin. How much blood pumps through to give strength to these hands, he wonders. The texture reminds him of apple-skin gone wrinkly. Yet Nathan has never seen those hands shake. The man is reaching beyond a ripe age, isn’t he?

“…Alright, young master,” the man says, his arms dropping to his sides. 

Mr. Edwards thankfully isn’t a traditionally obstinate man. Working with the Winstates, one cannot survive if one cannot bend.

“But if you ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask.” Mr. Edwards casually alters his bow so it’s not so stiff. It’s just a small nod of the upper body, fluid and off-the-cuff. He descends one step. Nathan smiles, close-lipped, not knowing the proper reply. All he can feel is the key, so ice cold in his hand that it feels like the heat from his palm could melt it into liquid.

“The young think that they have to be invincible nowadays so that they don’t have to be burdens to the old. But it is us that have put burdens on the young.”

“Excuse me?” Nathan asks, ashamed that he hadn’t been listening.

“Ah, nothing, nothing.” Mr. Edwards is already at the bottom of the steps. He shakes his head and waves one of his paper-thin hands. “Just my age getting to me, young master.”

“Please, you’re the most energetic man I know!” Nathan says with a lightly teasing scoff. “Anyway, thank you for everything, Mr. Edwards.” He raises a wave and the gentleman follows with his own before respectfully turning to leave.

“I’ll see you when I see you.” Mr. Edwards says last. The car door shuts in a hearty thump and the sleek vehicle turns out of the driveway in leaving.

Nathan waits in watch until the car finally exits out of the black-rust gates, until the call of the door is too much. The key is colder in the air when Nathan wrestles it out of the warm folds of his pockets. Breathing audible to his own ears, Nathan guides it; the key sinks into the keyhole like a pick to ice. His wrist strains, but the key turns. 

Something behind the metal clunks heavy in its gut as the lock opens.