"Open up, devil!" The command rasped through the dim room, the man's fingers tightening cruelly around Solomon's battered jaw, his face bore the marks of unrelenting violence. Nearby, two figures attended to the silent horror of Nathan, whose lifeless eyes stared into the abyss as they mutilated his still form. Blood trails followed Samuel as he was dragged down the staircase, his struggles in vain against the iron grip of his captors. They flung him at the feet of a man whose gold teeth glinted malevolently, his long braids soaking in the spreading crimson pool.
"Fear not, the girl shall be spared," the man assured Noami, gesturing towards the trembling 5-year-old girl hiding behind her.
"Sunny, what compels you to act in such a manner!?" Samuel's voice broke, blood and desperation spilling from his lips.
"Well, Samuel," Sunny skipped lightly over the bodies as if in a grotesque dance, "I cannot divulge the specific reasons, but, in accordance with your..." he skipped over the head of a dead young man, "...philosophical persuasions, it appears your family has angered God, Samuel." He reached Solomon, and began slicing through his tongue, then commanded his men to hold him still as he prepared to gouge out his eyes.
"Unhand him!" Samuel's cry was raw, his body surging from the ground only to be brutally pinned down again. He could do nothing but watch as Solomon's eyes were torn from their sockets. "No!!" Samuel's wail echoed through the room. Noami's body shook as she tried to shield the young girl, but the girl's gaze was drawn to the horror unfolding before her, Solomon's mutilation seared into her mind. The men turned their focus to Samuel, advancing slowly, their intentions clear.
"He who is blind to vice, is also dumb to its whispers and deaf to its influence, Samuel," Sunny intoned.
In the corner of the Erens' residence, an air of timelessness enveloped Sunny, whose long braids, now silvered with age, gathered and draped around his neck, mimicking a stately scarf. His golden laughter gleamed against his ebony skin. His joy was momentarily interrupted by a slight cough. Junior, seated nearby, had just finished conversing with him about the family enterprises. Owing to his unique bond with the Erens lineage, Sunny Gilroy wielded significant influence over their ventures, guiding Junior, who had inherited these responsibilities from his father after he passed.
"Ah, your father was quite the rogue in his youth," Sunny reminisced, his eyes sparkling with fond memories.
"Come now, Uncle Sunny, he couldn't have been all bad," Junior responded, a playful grin curling his lips as he took a measured sip of whiskey.
Sunny's laughter rang out again. "Your father was a force to be reckoned with. It's a wonder your mother endured him as long as she did. Naomi, she was a true gem."
"Indeed she was," Junior murmured, a wistful smile on his face as he gazed into his glass. Silence briefly descended upon them, a moment of shared remembrance.
Clearing his throat, Sunny broke the stillness. "You miss her."
Junior's voice, though steady, carried a hint of unease. "She chose her madness."
"Fika leh'hatih xeh boza xeh'nnah'a vesho rahn xhahu bafi iniqhah (Till this day, I'm still asking myself what kind of evil led to her madness)." Sunny said, rising and moving towards the cabinet to pour himself another drink.
Naomi clung to the girl with a desperate grip, her eyes wide with terror as the men advanced. Behind them, Sunny loomed, an ominous presence that cast a long shadow over the scene. He donned his top hat with a flourish, the flicker of a match illuminating his face as he lit his cigar. The men pried Naomi, she fought against their grasp, pleading with a voice choked by fear and betrayal. They dragged her towards a nearby room.
"Sunny, you promised! You said you'd spare me! Sunny, please!" Her cries echoed through the hallway as the wooden door slammed shut, sealing her fate within the room and the company of the men.
Sunny crouched beside the girl, whose eyes, wide with terror, were fixed on the door through which Naomi had disappeared. "Don't fret, my dear," Sunny murmured, his voice a blend of false reassurance and cold cruelty. "They are merely liberating her soul from the devil's lineage she was born into. She pleaded for your life, but her mercy will cost her dearly."
Minutes later, the door creaked open, and the men emerged, adjusting their dishevelled attire. Naomi lay crumpled on the floor behind them, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, her dress in tatters, baring her to the world in her vulnerability.
"Jonathan is here. He's come to stay with us for a month," Junior said, his voice carrying through the quiet of the afternoon. He and Sunny strolled along a narrow pathway, bordered by fields where labourers toiled under the sun.
"Indeed? And how fares the young man?" Sunny inquired, his gaze glaring over the bent backs and steady hands of the slaves.
"He thrives," Junior replied, a note of admiration colouring his words. "He is a remarkable philosopher, I must say, his notions often tread the precarious line between brilliance and folly." He led Sunny beneath a shelter, its structure entwined with vines. "Jonathan champions a philosophy of absolute freedom, casting off the shackles of society and the constraints imposed upon us as humans."
"Is that so?" Sunny mused. "A daring philosophy that defies the very foundations of our existence. What drives him to embrace such radical ideas?"
"In truth, I neglected to ask," Junior admitted. "Our conversation swiftly turned to a heated debate, as it often does. Jonathan and I have engaged in such spirited discourse for years."
"You two were ever as stubborn as Councilmen," Sunny chuckled. "You inherited that tenacity from your father. As for Jonathan, it's a wonder where he acquired it, raised as he was by his gentle grandmother, Ruth. May her soul rest in peace."
"Good gracious, what if they were to pursue my wife, Naomi?" The old man's voice cracked like thunder, his eyes wild with fear. "What if they were to set their sights upon me!?"
"My love," Ruth interjected softly, her tone as soothing as a lullaby, "please, do not raise your voice. Let her explain." She held Naomi's hand, with a mother's protective light shining through.
"Explain what, Ruth?" The old man's steps heavy with dread, pacing the room. "Did you chance to overhear her remarks?"
"I promise you, Grandfather," Naomi's voice trembled with a mix of determination and concern, her eyes drifting to the girl who sat isolated from their heated conversation. "The girl is naught but a harmless youth, and they shall not pursue you. They spared his life due to his blamelessness, untainted by the scandalous actions of our family's history. If she is raised under your guardianship, bearing your respected surname, she may be steered clear of the nefarious path that precipitated this calamity. The Erens shall not assert their claim over her, for my husband has undergone a transformation, and is no longer the man to whom I was betrothed."
The old man's fury ebbed, replaced by a contemplative silence. He looked to his wife, her face a portrait of tender sympathy, her eyes pleading for compassion.
"Very well," he sighed at last, his voice weary but resigned. "The girl may stay under my roof, but not under my name."
"Thank you, Grandfather," Naomi murmured, her voice a delicate thread of relief.
"Family," Ruth intoned softly, her words imbued with a quiet strength, "are those who stand by you, even when their presence is uncalled for. And you, my dear—how do you fare? It has been but a week since the ordeal, yet the wounds you bear are deeper than time alone can mend."
At the house of Erens, chaos erupted as servants fled the master bedroom, their faces etched with terror. Some wept openly, while others stood paralyzed by the horror they had witnessed. Among them, an older servant clutched nine-year-old Junior and Nicholas to her sides, the boys clinging to her, their wide eyes fixated on their father. He stood at the threshold of the master bedroom, a figure of sorrow and resignation. With deliberate slowness, he moved a chair beside her, his movements heavy with grief. Stepping upon the chair, he grabbed her body, he reached up, and severed the rope, the corpse fell into his arms.
Naomi approached the mirror in the living room, her reflection capturing her red hair and the deep, searching hazel of her eyes. She began, "Am I well? Do you remember, when I was but a child, the wisdom you imparted? You would say, 'We dwell in a world where the fear of the devil surpasses our communion with the divine. Thus, we contemplate evil more than the prospect of good.' Mankind, you said, has lost the ability to distinguish virtue from vice, or even recognize these concepts at all. Instead, they have embraced a profound and paralyzing dread."
"Those who set the rules of our society have crafted them from their own fears," Ruth continued.
Uriah crumpled to the floor, knees hitting the cold surface with a dull thud. Silent tears streamed down his face as he pressed Naomi to his chest.
Naomi's voice trembling as she beheld her own reflection, the image of herself repulsed her. "Thus, we find ourselves ensnared in this plight, while they reside in a world of their own making, untouched by the despair they sow."
"Where is Jonathan at this moment?" inquired Sunny.
Junior paused. "He ventured to a gathering in Dahlehama, accompanied by Nicholas and Lady Amada."
"Lady Amada?" Sunny's brow arched delicately.
Junior offered a slight nod. "Ah, have I not spoken of her? She is an acquaintance of Jonathan's, a lady of notable grace and charm."
"Intriguing," Sunny mused, "Khalameh is likely revelling in the same quarters. Perhaps their paths will cross."