Audiobook:

https://youtu.be/o93UY-wo7MQ

Disclaimer: this chapter deals with suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

I looked through the column of trees and beyond the dead leaves which fell from above. Past the reach of the horizon stood an enormous building—a lodge. It was crafted from old Red Spruce trees, and its roof sloped upward in an 'A' shape. Perched at each end of the highest points of the roof were gargoyles, gazing into the dead forest which surrounded them.

Every part of me, every memory I sold, all of them clawed their way into the forefront of my mind. I wanted to forget, needed to forget, but I could not. I shook my head and fixated on the yellow stained windows, and the dirt which collected at the corners of them.

Though I was hundreds of feet away from the Lodge, from the hideous place in which I ki—a—a—terrible accident occurred. I could smell its fragrance. Pine and lemon. Those two scents mingled before me and brought to life a new memory which had started to hatch in my mind.

I recall, I remember the white and crème floors which reminded me of swirling soaps which had not yet mixed. The floorboards were rich in color, a vibrant cherry oak, polished, without a smudge or scratch. I feel like I am there, and the wall, no more than a perfect white canvas interrupted by faint gold strips which start with the floorboards and end at the ceiling.

And the ceiling, what a sight it was to behold! At its center, just above the main entrance, hung a vast chandelier made of diamonds. The light which passed through them refracted and created a spectacle upon the floors and walls.

How could a place as hideous as this confiscate my innocence, and condemn me to my fate? This building, made by man, exists in no other way than unremarkable beauty and awe. The air, on that night, was warm, and Peter, he joined me as I sat in front of the fireplace. I had waited for him, waited for two hours, as I had already put something in his—

Peter spoke and interrupted my thoughts, he "let us go, now," he pointed at the vast structure in the distance, and then continued, "and visit the Lodge." His stare: cold, void of expression, and static as stone.

I took a breath in, and did not notice the brief second in which I blinked. The forest, at one point in time, surrounded me. The soundless night, the bleak mist which hung low, the scent of leaves rotting where they lie, all of it disappeared and was replaced by the low and steady rhythm of a violin, the aroma of pine, and an impeccably clean floor.

Peter stood before me, and a smile extended from ear to ear. I closed my eyes and kept them shut. I pressed my eyelids together as hard as I could.

Peter whispered, "look, look at their bodies! Glance at your handiwork!"

My mind: the palace of my memories, the vault of my experiences, the safe no one can break.

My mind: the canvas in which I paint.

I remember now. I had given him the antidote. Peter had drunk poison that night! He did! It was not I who stood to gain the most from the passing of him and his family. Not I. No. A man of his wealth, a man of such creation, he was a man who oversaw oil fields and refineries.

Peter was the emperor of an empire, the king of kings, bringing about his end would not have benefited me. Just then, as these thoughts tore through my mind, I felt the sting of rot as it spread up my forearm and to my elbow.

I looked down, and at this point, I had become the most tainted creature of all. Others, Margret, Peter, and Persius had no more than blackened fingertips, but I, my entire arm is black and dead.

Rotten flesh, its odor and vile taste overwhelmed my senses as the world around me faded to darkness. The once white and crème floors became dusty and coated with dirt, as the beautiful walls aged into disrepair. Rays of light, once passing through the suspended diamonds, fade as the precious gems themselves split and shatter.

Their pieces fell around me, and at once, I dropped to my knees.

Peter said, "look at me as I am suspended from the ground."

I refuse to. Peter continued, "my fortune, my daughter, all of it, you craved. Look at me! Look at what you have done to me, look! Look at how you arranged my demise."

My hands, I studied them. I whispered, "I gave you the antidote. I gave it to you." The rot spread up my bicep, and now, I felt it licking up my ankles. I spoke no more.

Peter continued, "you convinced the world I brought about my own end, tell me, tell me, tell me, look at me as I speak to you!"

I could not control myself as I craned my head upward and stared at Peter. His face had become puffy, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. Around his neck was a noose, and there he hung, from the ceiling.

Peter lifted his finger and pointed at me, "do you remember, now, Mr. Monroe? Do you?"

I shouted, "it was not I who poisoned the tea that night, I did not force them to drink, they drank it of their own accord! I plead my innocence, and now—now—" I felt it chewing at my bicep: the rot, the decay.

I smelled it, tasted it, and looked at my hands.

Peter interrupted, "enough with the lies, can you not tell that your deception is eating you alive! I watched as my daughter, son, wife, and mother sat motionless, paralyzed by whatever concoction you made, and then you proceeded to make sure our hearts beat no longer! I saw the will forged, I saw your own brother try to stop you, but you did away with him, did you not?"

I ignored his question, but Peter continued, "did you not beat Persius until he was limp, and, and, you do not know yet, you do not remember."

I heard the subtle approach of someone walking down the hall, behind Peter.

He whispered, "even in death, you cannot tell the truth."