Shards.
One room to describe Grandpappy's study.
It reminds me of my apartment not too long ago.
Shattered bottles of whiskey scatter around the floor alongside parchment papers stained with ink. I stand wide-eyed and breathless at the door, crossing my arms as I watch Isak pin my grandfather to the floor, the well-groomed gentleman from earlier becoming nothing more than an erratic, drooling madman. He squirms under Isak's firm grip, screeching as his butler attempts to calm him down with words.
"Milord!" Isak yells, only to be replied with a hard smack to the face. The butler tumbles off of him, annoyance making his face burn brighter than the area hit.
Grandpappy launches himself to his feet, eyes appearing to sway back and forth between the thin line of fantasy and reality. His collar is unbuttoned and ascot dangling loose on his chest. He sways in a drunken rhythm, hazel eyes staring deep into mine as he plans out his next moves.
And before I know it, he throws himself on to me, eyes a whirlwind of anger and madness.
"Beatrice!" He screams, shoving me against the wall. My head falls victim to a hard collision, my lips forcing out a grunt, and the world around me begins to spin. I fight him off as best as I can, yelling at him to let go. "Damn you, wretched woman! Damn you, damn you!"
"Milord," Isak calls out again, locking my grandfather into a chokehold. Isak pushes himself onto the ground and wraps his legs around the old man, his shades tipping a little to the side to reveal brilliant green eyes. "Mielle, the drawer."
I do my best to recover from the events prior. "W-What?"
"The drawer," he grunts, keeping the screeching man still. He cocks his head to the drawers beside the door. "There's a tranquilizer in there. Hurry and get it."
"A-Alright," I respond, hands trembling as they rummage the drawer filled with bottles of medicine and syringes.
"It's a syringe marked with green tape," Isak says.
I pull one out. "This?"
He nods, and I rush towards him, slipping it into his hands as he stabs Grandpappy in the neck. A few moments later, the erratic, uncontrollable man stills and his voice shuts in silence. A bit of drool falls off his chapped lips, and as soon as he closes his eyes, Isak releases the man from his hold.
When Isak finds himself back on his feet, that's when my lips start to move.
"What the hell was that?" I exclaim, lungs inhaling deeply. But, as usual, the butler doesn't respond. He just fixes his shades. "Isak!"
"Dammit, it's getting worse," he says underneath his breath. I widen my eyes as he curses, sounding like a guy his age for once. His head turns to me. "It's the LSD. He took too much of it."
I furrow my brows. "LSD? Like the drug?"
Isak nods. "It's the drug he takes before writing anything," he explains. "LSD is a hallucinogen, so it gives him hallucinations where he then transmits it into writing. He usually takes ecstasy which doesn't make him as violent. But today..." His voice wanders into mystery.
"So, you mean to say Grandpappy's an addict?" I ask. I glance down at the snoring man. Is this why Mom cut ties with him? "How long has he been using?"
"He was using before I worked for him," Isak responds. "I know he takes other drugs as well, for different occasions. But, based on observations, he prefers his hallucinogens and takes LSD when he's in a writer's block. Or when he..." Again, this stupid man halts his sentences. However, I notice his eyes move towards me in caution. "Beatrice."
One word elicits a strong reaction from me.
His eyes burn with a need for an answer. "Who is she?"
"How the hell would I know?" I keep my voice even and firm, eyes challenging his. "I even asked you who she was when I first arrived, and you told me to keep my nose out of his business. Why would you think I know who Beatrice is after I literally just asked you a few days ago?"
"He rarely ever mentions her name," he says, mind working like gears in a machine. "The single name pains him every time it escapes his lips. But now, it falls out of him without any reaction at all."
Well, I wouldn't say that exactly. I remember seeing that subtle pain on his face, creeping in through his bone-set wrinkles from either guilt or regret. The name still hurts him, but I guess neither one of us knows why.
"Before I asked you, I did ask him about who she was the day I arrived," I tell him, drawing forth an interested expression from the butler's face. "But he avoided the question. I thought that you, of all people, would know who she was. Especially after the response you gave me then. You're close with him, after all."
"As close as a butler can be," he remarks, fingers running through his slicked-back hair. His actions result in a few dark locks to dangle down the temples of his head, masking him with a kind of beauty that's annoyingly distracting. "I can deduce that the woman could have been a past lover, but again, I'm not certain."
Past lover?
Even before Grandmammy?
"Aren't you curious, though, Isak?" I begin. "Aren't you curious who she is? If you asked him, I'm sure he would tell you."
Isak's jaw tightens. "I did. Once. And I got a slap as a response."
I purse my lips, intrigue fueling this need to solve this mystery into a burning inferno.
"But I am curious, Mie. However, even that is an understatement." He shakes his head. "But there's a boundary that butlers do not cross with their masters. So, I don't press any further."
"You're too rigid for your age, you know," I comment. Again, he doesn't respond and instead begins to lift my grandfather off from the floor. The conversation about Beatrice ends there. "What's going to happen to him?"
"I'm just taking Milord to bed," he responds, dragging his 'master' out the door. But before he leaves, he stops to look at me. "I apologize for Milord's actions. I hope he didn't scare you. Goodnight, Mie."
I hate how he sends me off to bed after the conversation we just had. How can anyone just casually brush off what happened earlier?
But in the end, I just nod and lower my eyes to the floor. "Goodnight, Isak."
And as the scene slowly drowns itself into my sea of memories, my eyes can't help but follow the back of the mysterious butler as he drags his addict master away. Even Isak doesn't know who this Beatrice woman is, and even he is as curious as me in regards to finding out her identity. But unlike him, I have no sense of boundaries and allow my curiosity to drive my will and actions.
I'll find out who that woman is.
I'll find out what's behind that secret bookcase door.
And I'll find out the secrets of this countryside manor.
With or without Isak's help, I'll find out— since he's not being of any use at the moment.
No matter what, I'll be feeding this curiosity of mine.
And I will find whatever adventure is waiting for me to unfold.