I Promise I’ll Be Good

The mansion had seen better days. That was the first thing Marcus thought upon setting eyes on his old home. The gate was left swinging ajar, and to his surprise no guards stood watch. The house was dark, with no lights fighting back the shadows save for the moon overhead and the lantern burning softly in his hand. There had been an ambush the last time he had tried to visit, Jernigan guards had swiftly surrounded both Alyissaria and himself when she had agreed to help. But any fear of an ambush was met only with an eerie stillness.

His walk through the garden was silent save for the slight click of his boots across the moss ridden stone. The once lavish bushes that had been trimmed into shapes of marvelous beasts and animals were now merely overgrown shrubs. Marcus frowned and gazed around. Something was wrong, there should be servants and men at arms here. Someone to challenge him at the gate, or to greet him at the front door but there was only silence save for the faint creaking from the mansion.

It had never occurred to him that a house could be a living thing. The people it’s life’s blood, it’s beating heart. But if that were the case then his old residence was dead. He was unsure if that made it a corpse rotting or a spirit looking to be laid to rest. He supposed that depended on what laid inside.

When he reached the front door he gently rapped his knuckles on the ornamented wood. No response, not that he had expected any. When he tried the handle he was dully surprised to find it unlocked and with a gentle push the door swung open.

The inside of the mansion was almost pitch black save for what moonlight was able to shine through the windows and the sparse illumination of his lantern, which he held aloft to look at the walls. There had once been a portrait at the entrance of both himself and his father that was painted on his tenth year, but it was gone now. Slowly he began to walk down the hall to his right and he noticed that every decoration was gone. He reached out and ran his hand against the wall and continued brush his fingers across as he walked

The once gaudy mansion now laid bare and freed from his father’s desperate need to flaunt his wealth. The man had always needed to prove he had more than others. That he was better than them. A slight snort escaped Marcus at the thought, like he was in a position to judge. He had done the same thing when he’d gotten even the smallest bit of gold.

He paused as he saw a slight illumination ahead. The first sign of life he’d seen, so he lowered his lantern and approached slowly. If his memory was correct the light was coming from the dining hall. Inch by inch he eased towards the corner to peer into the sparsely lit room, and when he was finally able to peer inside he wasn’t surprised by the sight.

His father was sitting on the far end and chewing on the bones of what had once been a chicken. No fine silverware and plates to hold his meal. Just grease stains on the table and a pitcher filled with some dark liquid that Marcus couldn’t make out from a distance.. The room was barely recognizable. The only furniture remaining was the table and a handful of chairs. Gone were the candelabra and tablecloth with silver linings. The wood of the table itself was scarred and chipped as if it had been flipped and battered several times.

A strange sensation washed over him as his eyes took in the scene before him, whether it be sadness or nostalgia it was hard to tell. John Tamaril looked up as Marcus fully stepped into the room, his eyes flicking up from his half eaten meal. A sneer crossed his face as he spat onto the floor and he addressed the stranger in his home.

“I have no money to give you, though you could start digging up the floorboards. Maybe you’ll find a shiny copper if you look hard enough.”

He barked an odd laugh, a joyless and hollow thing loud enough to fill the room. The snarl on his face only got worse for the effort.

“You’ll find no coin here boy. Go back to whatever pit you crawled out from.”

Marcus stared back at his father blankly. Processing the words slowly. His father didn’t recognize him, mistaking him for some kind of debt collector. Though he had to admit the title still fit. Instead of responding to his father’s exclamation he grabbed one of the few remaining chairs and dragged it to the opposite side of the long table and plopped down inside it, kicking his feet up on the table before he bothered to respond.

“Whatever pit I crawled from ey? Well guess that means I’m home then.”

He gave his father his best smile. One laced with humor and good intentions. The one his own father would wear whenever he was trying to sell something, or trying to scam someone.

“I know it’s been some time, John but surely you still recognize me? It’s only been fourteen years.”

The smile faded and a snarl of his own crossed his face, the boots on the table kicked out and threatened to flip the table as it cracked and moved across the floor. In a flash he was standing and made his way to where his father sat, a look of utter confusion across the man’s face.

“Did you get busy John? Couldn’t find the time to write? Check on how your little money making scheme was doing? I never knew you to be one that would let an investment go unsupervised. But I guess that didn’t matter as long as you got the money though right JOHN?!”

With a flash his sword was out of its sheath and pointed at his father, the steel pressed against the man’s neck.

“Did you ever wonder where I’d been? Or were you fine with pretending I didn’t exist as long as you kept getting your gold? As long as you could keep getting drunk, gambling and whoring your way through the city? Answer me you bastard!”

Every word twisted with his snarl. The rage was like a hot iron pressed against his skin, like a inferno burning him from inside. He had to take efforts to control his breathing and keep his hand straight so he didn’t cut his father’s throat by accident. A part of him just wanted to stab this man and be done with it. But he needed answers, and despite his rage he didn’t know if he could kill a man in cold blood. That was a line he didn’t want to cross even if he hated this man.

His father barked a laugh in reply to his threat. A morbid mirth filled John as he realized who it was he was talking to. A cruel smile lining his face.

“Bastard is it? That’s rich coming from you. Looks like the dog finally decided to come crawling back to the table for scraps. There’s nothing left for you here boy. But while you’re here I’ll remind you that you’re late on your payments. Almost two years late. Hope you brought enough coins to make up the difference.”

John made a sweeping gesture around the room, almost ignoring the sword pointed at him.

“As you can see I have a lot to replace. How ungrateful can you be? Letting the house get like this? And why? Just to spite me? Still a child after all these years I see. You always were a disappointment. Have you come here to disappoint me yet again? Are threats and a pointy sword all you have to offer? If that’s the case I’m not interested. Begone child, I have no time for you.”

With that his father tried to stand and move back to his meal but Marcus kept his sword where it was and didn’t let the man budge. The rage had changed form. No longer a fire inside him. Now a cold rush filled his body, like frigid water running through his veins. His face went slack as he let out a breath he’d been holding.

“I have no money for you. Not now or ever. But I do have questions, ones that you’re going to answer. This will be a simple affair. You answer and I leave. If you don’t things will get more difficult. I’ve learned a lot while I’ve been gone. I don’t believe you want me to demonstrate those skills, so let’s keep this civil and short so you can go back to wallowing in your own filth. That’s the best deal you’re going to get from me.”

An eye roll and a huff was the response he got. Feeling frustrated Marcus pushed the edge of his sword slightly deeper just to make sure he was getting his point across.

“Believe me I’d rather stab you. But you have answers, and despite your assumptions you’re the one who owes me. This is not a trade. This is an interrogation. Understood?”

This time all he got back was a glare, but not an argument. Progress. Keeping his eyes on his father he pulled out a flintlock he had bought from one of the crew members on the ship he had taken to get here. It was already preloaded and he cocked back the hammer and pointed it at his father. He sheathed his sword and went to retrieve his fallen chair and dragged it near to where his father was and sat down..

“Answer each question or I’ll shoot you. It’s a slow and painful way to go. Let’s try to avoid making a mess alright? Now let’s get started. My mother, Josaline. You bought her from Dana Mic Lir, you had a captain named Laura Denali deliver her safely to your home. Why?”

His father’s eyes shot up as if the topic of his mother was something that the man never even thought worth considering. He let out a snort.

“I didn’t buy her. I owed a debt, and taking her into my care and keeping an eye on her was payment for it.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. That was not the answer he had expected. Still it didn’t answer much. He continued.

“What was this debt?”

John looked annoyed about being pressed on this topic but Marcus couldn’t care less, he simply raised the flintlock in his father’s direction, the man cleared his throat before answering.

“Gambling”

His father started fiddling with a ring on his finger almost subconsciously. Marcus never really stopped to consider the rings his father wore when he was a youth, but he focused now on one in particular. He stared at the amethyst gemstone his father was playing with, and as the gleaming purple gem caught some of the candlelight it seemed to almost stare back in accusation. A chill ran through Marcus as he now suspected who his father owed his debts to, an organization he had tried to cut ties with himself. A familiar headache started to form but this interrogation was far from over.

“Where did you bury my mother? She was hurt badly by the time she arrived. The Captain already confirmed that. I just need to know what happened after she passed.”

Marcus felt an odd tightness in his throat when he talked about his mother. Especially on the topic of her death. Mourning someone you had never known was an odd sensation. His father clearly didn’t hold nearly as much reverence for the topic though.

“Buried?” John snickered the word as if he had never heard a better joke.

“I sent her corpse to the Citadel when Mic Lir asked for her. Is that buried enough for you boy?”

His laugh rang out as if he had never heard a grander joke than his son asking where his mother had gone. Marcus for his part was making a conscious effort to keep his finger off the trigger of the flintlock. Remain calm. He kept repeating that mantra in his head. Losing his temper would only mean he wouldn’t get more information, and at least now he knew where to continue his search. But the next question was spat out before it was even half formed in his head.

“Why did you even bother raising me?”

John just rolled his eyes, the man seemed bored with being held at gunpoint if that was possible. His eyes flicking over to his discarded scraps as if eating were more important than the possibility of being shot. After a moment his eyes lazily returned to look at his “son”

“It was a great way to not have to give the Captain the other half of her money. The deal didn’t cover you, only the woman. Have to save coins where you can. And besides in the end keeping you around kept the thing more docile, though she kept escaping out of her room to try and see you. Eventually when she finally died, it was just more convenient to have you as an “heir” so I could use your name to sign contracts for loans whenever I got into trouble. Why waste a perfectly good resource?”

John said everything like it was merely an afterthought. As if a mother desperate to see her son was some amusing diversion, just like putting his son into crippling debt was just a sound business decision. Marcus was completely stunned. He knew his father was a terrible person but this? This level of casual cruelty was baffling. With an effort he kept his face calm, kept his hands from shaking. But he was almost choking on his rage now. It was almost all he could do to stop himself from shooting from his chair and throttling the man. But this was the most information he had gotten in years. And there were still a few things he needed to know, so despite the anger he forced himself to continue.

“Do you still have contact with Dana Mic Lir”

With a shrug his father simply replied. “Used to, haven’t heard from him in over a decade.”

Marcus sucked sourly at his teeth and clicked his tongue. He had hoped for a better answer than that. Seemed the citadel was still his next best place to look. But the show must go on, but he was growing fatigued of his father. There were still more questions. Ones that had bothered him for many years.

“Why did you pawn me off to the Jernigans? And what did they even want with me in the first place? Were your gambling debts even real?”

His father gave him an odd look as the man flipped the questions over in his head. A small smirk had started to form as if the interrogation had transformed into an adult indulging an unruly child.

“Oh the debts were real. And giving you to the Jernigans settled them. You owed me for everything I did for you, I took care of you after all. And now you show up at my home giving out threats and questions like you think life owes you anything. You got to live in luxury thanks to me. So the least you could have done was pay off a few small debts you ungrateful brat.”

The smirk on his fathers face was replaced but a sneer, Marcus tried to cut him off but his father simply talked over him and continued.

“You want to know what they wanted from you? Who could want anything from you boy? You were a means to an end. Nothing more. Just a brat who slipped out of some burnt half corpse who didn’t have the sense to die quickly, you should be grateful that I found a use for you. I gave you a purpose, more than you ever would have found on your own. What else could you be good for? You’re just a pup trying to look for scraps and whining that your mother is dead. My only regret is that I wasn’t firm enough when you were a child. If I had used the rod more then you never would have come here with these damned questions, I’ve indulged you….”

He was cut off as Marcus stood and backhanded him. The blow knocked at least some of the vigor from the man. Marcus put the flintlock against John’s temple and spoke cold and quiet. His head had started throbbing in earnest and every part of him screamed to shoot the man and let this farce end. But he was not done.

“You’ll indulge me further yet, and you will not insult my mother again.”

He paused to calm himself before continuing.

“I have one more question. Who is Tomas Jernigan?”

That was the final name. The one that stung at him all this time. The man he had at gunpoint may have raised him, in the loosest sense of the word. But he wasn’t really his father. No. That title belongs to another, it seemed. A wayward Jernigan. Marcus didn’t like dwelling on what that meant. What connections it may imply. But he needed to know what John knew. To his credit John had taken the strike well, spitting some blood on the floor before glaring up at Marcus.

“I have no idea who that is. I don’t follow every single branch of that family tree, he seems obscure.”

And that was it. The last answer to the last question. Marcus felt like he should be grateful for it to be over. That he should feel some kind of emotion. But all he felt now was tired and pained. He headaches a steady companion. But apparently it was his father’s turn to ask questions.

“Are you going to shoot me now?”

That was the real question wasn’t it? Was he? Could he? Surely the man deserved to die but did Marcus have that right? To shoot a man in his own home in cold blood. Was that what a good man would do? Was he a good man? Or anything close to one in any matter? Or was he a killer? A failure like he had always feared he was? He looked down at the man he had long considered his father. He tried to find the rage that had swelled within him for most of this encounter but he found it missing. Looking down at this waste of a man only invoked disgust, and perhaps a small amount of pity.

A shot rang out, echoing off the walls with an overwhelming sense of finality. The pitcher on the table went flying. Its dark contents spilled from the top and the new hole in the side. John had flinched at the sound and looked up at Marcus surprised. Maybe the man had expected to die. But not tonight, at least not by his hands. Marcus holstered the spent flintlock and started to make his way out of the dining hall. He stopped at the corner and looked back at John. The man’s eyes were bloodshot and full of confusion.

“You should stop drinking John. You always were a nasty drunk. I’d say I’ll see you around. But I think for both our sakes I best not.”

With that he turned the corner and made his way from the house that was never his home. He took his time walking through the garden trying to summon any good memories of the place. But they were buried. This house was most certainly dead, with only a single bitter ghost to keep it company. He figured that was for the best. Let this place be forgotten. He sighed as he headed for the docks. There was still someone he needed to help, one last spirit that needed to be laid to rest. Maybe it wasn’t too late for him to be a good man.