Chapter Text
“This is the most boring money I’ve ever earned. I haven’t been propositioned by a single ghost,” Lucius said, tossing the page he’d just finished reviewing onto the pile in front of him.
Stede surveyed the remaining stacks around them. They were down to the last hundred pages or so. If his father had interesting documents, they very clearly were not stored here. “I wasn’t really expecting ghosts, but this is like being haunted by the specter of the tax office. I thought that you and Pete were—”
“He’s one hundred percent human, which means he does not count as a ghostly encounter.”
“You could always try the forest,” Stede suggested with dry amusement, while skimming down his own page.
“Hmm, I did fail to specify human ghosts. Or wait, are haunted forests infested with human ghosts or tree ghosts? Feels like an important difference. I am not interested in trees in any phase of life.”
Stede looked up. “Thank you for that distinction, Lu. I’ll sleep better at night.” He dropped his own page and then picked up and neatened the edges of the pile. “This is useless. I can’t believe we’ve spent two weeks on this. I give up. Let’s ransack the house.” Not that he was about to admit that this initial phase had started with him plundering the desk in the first place, and he still hadn’t told Lucius about the strange carving.
“It at least sounds more exciting than this has been. Just crashing things to the floor. Perhaps pelting the china at the walls? It would be so cathartic.”
“I hate the china pattern,” Stede confided, and then clapped his hands together. “Let’s do it! But perhaps outside on a tarp to minimize the clean up.”
Lucius grinned. “I knew you were a freak. I love to see you letting loose.” He stood up. “I’m going to go ask Pete for a tarp!”
Stede sat in his chair a moment longer, studying the office and trying to imagine where his father would have hidden something important. He’d never guess, and there was nothing to do but keep looking, or, for now, smash some plates. He was generally in favor of preserving beautiful things, but no one could look at that particular combination of cornflower blue and thickly-applied metallic gold paint and see beauty.
He decided to go up to his room and change into a sturdier pair of shoes. The brightly-colored cover of his book, still resting on the table out on the deck, caught his eye as he sat down on the bench. He was enjoying reading the rather engrossing guide to the local plants and wildlife that he’d found in town last week at the used bookstore. He couldn’t believe that he’d apparently left it out this morning. The weather was dry, so the book would likely be fine if it weren’t for the gray squirrel currently perched on the table next to it. Stede tried not to be too precious about his possessions, but he drew the line at chewed edges.
“You! Scram!” he yelled through the glass. The squirrel startled, looked right at him, and then dashed down the railing. Stede sighed and went back to changing his shoes. He never had found what he’d seen that first morning. Everything native to the area was in browns and grays. The small mammal had been a very intense red. His attempt at searching for it on the internet had turned up a red squirrel (Sciurus vulgaris), native to the UK, and rare there now since the introduction of the gray squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis)—the kind he’d just chased off.
Perhaps he could go have a look in the wood, as a treat, once they’d done something useful. He’d nearly gone in last week, but Pete had been cleaning the pool and sent him such a look of judgment and disappointment that Stede had felt compelled to pretend that he was examining the exterior of the house.
He stood and went outside to collect his book, delighted to note that the pages weren’t the least bit nibbled. He was lucky his inattention hadn’t resulted in damage. He carried the book back inside and set it on his nightstand next to the carving, giving in to the impulse to run his finger over the interior wood. He still had no idea what it could possibly mean, but knew it had to be some kind of clue to whatever had gone wrong with his father—only, the vaguest one possible.
He went outside to find both Lucius and Pete lined up at a section of wall with no windows and a gap in the landscaping intended to allow for storage. Lucius had a pile of plates next to his feet on the tarp, and Pete was marking out a target on the brick with tape, which was sticking poorly.
“No teacups?” Stede asked.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to smash them too.”
“Everything must go!” Stede said, rolling his shoulders back, as if he was getting in prime throwing form. “I’ll go grab them. Feel free to get started without me.”
Pete finished placing the tape. “Good. I wasn’t going to wait. I’ve got some things to work out.” He took a few steps back, snatched up a plate, and hurled it at the wall. He missed the target by half a meter, but Lucius threw his hands in the air anyway.
“Wow, babe! You smashed it!”
Stede returned with an armload to find that Lucius and Pete had already broken all the bowls and were making good progress on the plates. He placed his haul carefully on the tarp. Then, with a nod at Lucius and Pete, he picked up a teacup and flung it at the wall without bothering to aim. It shattered after hitting the piece of tape marking the center.
“I got a hit!” He’d never been particularly athletic—one of his many, many failings as a son—but perhaps property destruction was an undiscovered talent.
He took a second teacup and tossed it with an equal amount of carelessness. He whooped when it flew true as well, breaking into pieces that fell to the tarp with a satisfying clatter against all the other broken china. He scooped up one of the horrible plates and watched as it smacked into the brick, splintering apart into something momentarily beautiful like a supernova.
He was startled by clapping off to his right. He jerked his head in that direction.
“Well, what do we have here, Baby Bonnet? A little amusement? I do recall you loved games when we were in school.”
Nigel Badminton, across the world, and for some reason in his father’s backyard.
Stede sat across from Nigel at the dining table, staring at his awful smug face while he said his awful smug words, his hair in a nonsense of a ponytail. It looked ridiculous on him, nearly as silly as his pink polo shirt and precisely creased khaki slacks. Lucius was sitting between them with his face pulled into the same pained expression he’d been making since Nigel arrived.
The man had demanded that they allow him to tour the entire house claiming he wanted to honor the cradle of his late mentor’s inspiration. Stede hadn’t so much minded the formal dining room, but he found Nigel’s insistence that they take a careful loop inside the garage a little strange. He was ready to draw a line at the pool house, but Pete, who was cooking dinner in the kitchen, had shrugged and said to let him look all he liked; he didn't have any secrets. Nigel’s barging earned him the chance to peer at two different kinds of lube and a week’s worth of discarded clothing.
Pete carried in the pot of chili, set it at the center of the table, and then began handing out bowls that he’d brought from his own kitchen since they’d made such excellent progress on smashing the china. He gave Stede a plastic bowl with a toucan, set down the one with elves for himself, and passed the tiger to Lucius with a whispered, but still loud, “It’s the best one.” He gave the last, featuring some kind of winking rectangular monstrosity, to Nigel. “You look like a wheat guy.” He ladled chili into his own bowl and sat down.
“You eat with the help?” Nigel asked with a sneer.
“Pete has been kind enough to offer to share his dinner since you insisted that we feed you. You will not address him in that manner.”
“How your father would be turning in his grave, Bonnet.”
“That would be difficult since we had his body incinerated.”
Lucius stood, filled his bowl, and then looked to Stede. Stede shrugged, got to his feet, and ladled out his own helping. He had the strongest impulse to sit down and make Nigel serve himself, but manners had been drilled into him, and they were hard to set aside.
“May I fill your bowl for you, Nigel?”
Nigel guffawed. “Yes, do dish my food for me. Maybe it will help you remember that your place in this world isn’t set. You may have privileges, but things change, especially if you’ve been forged of butter instead of steel. Your father handpicked me to take over ownership of his company, now that he’s gone, but really—” He broke into more laughter. “What other options were there?”
Stede had been deeply grateful that his father had insisted he take a position with Mary’s family rather than his own, and even more so when his father had sold out to the Badmintons. “Limited, I’m sure. That doesn’t explain the reason for your extended visit. I can’t imagine there’s anything left to see.”
“Isn’t there Baby Bonnet? You’re not fooling me, but there’s time enough for that later. What is this?” he demanded, gesturing at his bowl.
“Deer chili. Got a buddy that hunts,” Pete said. “May be leaner than you’re used to. I can get you some cheddar for the top.”
“How wonderfully humble of you to eat this fare, Bonnet. Like a peasant, but you always did like slumming it. Nothing too low for you. Remember the tree?”
“The tree?” Stede asked, knowing exactly what Nigel was referring to but hoping perhaps he could bravado his way out of this one. “No, I can’t.”
“Oh, come on now. The tree. It was hysterical!”
It hadn’t been hysterical, not even mildly funny. He flashed on the rough bark against his face, the way his hands hurt from being tied around the trunk. Kiss it, Baby Bonnet, kiss it! Or we’ll leave you till morning. They’d laughed themselves silly, falling dramatically to the ground while he pretended to make out with the tree. Someone had a camera, and they’d passed the picture around for the rest of the year.
“Oh, it was all in good fun, of course. An initiation of sorts.”
Stede’s stomach turned over, he didn’t look at Pete or Lucius. “Yes, funny, I don't recall it happening to anyone else.”
“Oh, and there was the time in the library—”
“Right, perhaps we could return to why you’re still here?” Stede suggested with less patience than before. Nigel was a bully, had always been a bully, and always would be a bully. Stede was not obligated to play along.
“Your father omitted some important documents from the company files.”
“We don’t have them,” Stede said flatly.
“You couldn’t possibly—”
“We really could,” Lucius spoke up. “We’ve spent the last two weeks sorting his papers. There’s nothing of interest in them. To anyone.”
“There must be. I know he had to have written down the location.” Nigel’s tone was sharp and his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t come all this way to leave empty-handed. I will have it.”
“It?” Stede asked.
“The papers I need, of course.” Nigel looked a little strange, his eyes wide and sweat dripping down his temple.
“You’re welcome to look,” Stede offered, hating the necessity of doing it, but thinking there would be no faster way to convince Nigel of the truth. They’d managed to skip the office earlier, Stede explaining that it was a disaster. He should have guessed that Nigel wouldn’t leave until he’d rummaged through every bit and bob.
They finished the meal in awkward silence, occasionally broken by Lucius and Pete’s not very subtly flirting. Nigel didn’t seem to catch the intent though, asking if Pete had some kind of disorder that made him grin so much, while continuing to peer intensely around the room. Lucius said that he would clear up the dishes if Stede would “just get rid of him, however you have to do it.”
Stede led Nigel to the office, giving a quick rundown of the stacks they’d yet to clear away since they’d been distracted by disposing of his father’s china. He leaned with his hand on the desk for support while Nigel rifled through them.
“This can’t be it! It’s not here.” He looked around the room, his face shifting to something furious before he angled his foot and kicked a pile, sending it scattering through the air. “Ridiculous, useless nonsense!”
“You could just tell me what you’re looking for instead of throwing a fit like someone who can’t regulate his emotions. Try using your words, Nigel.”
“You think you’re so clever, Baby Bonnet, but you’re weak. Useless. Your father could see you for what you are, an inadequate tool, too broken to be of use.”
“That may be, but even I could tell you there’s nothing interesting about the house. Look at it. My father didn’t give a damn about it. He only cared about one thing and it was the—” Stede snapped his mouth shut, realizing that he’d also lost his temper and said more than he meant to.
Nigel had gone still, but his face was still strange, his eyes too wide and his breathing rapid. “Of course,” he breathed out. “Of course, and you…you’ll show me the woods.”
“No. I will not. There’s nothing in them either,” Stede said, firmly, not sure that he truly believed it, but knowing that he would never allow Nigel to enter them. He took a long steadying breath, reaching for the strength he knew was at his core. “Get out of my house, Nigel. You’ve overstayed your welcome, and we have nothing to offer you.”
“Fuck you, Bonnet. We’re not finished.” Nigel stomped from the room, and Stede sagged against the desk.
“Fuck.”
Stede was in the woods again. On the path, moonlight shining through the trees, and the air filled with the rich scent of pine and traces of something floral. It was beautiful, and he felt the same deep sense of calm that always came to him here. He was completely at peace.
He reached his hand out and ran it over the trunk of a tree. “I’m here.”
A scrape of something loud, metal on stone, roused him from the dream. The forest fading into his bedroom. He’d had these same vivid dreams as a child, immersive like this. He’d read something as an adult that said that it was common, that children dreamed of ancestral terrors, wolves instead of forgetting a test. But as the images dissipated, he realized the sound had been real. He sat up, slid out of bed, and put on his robe and slippers.
He was still sleeping with the door open onto the deck, though he knew no one would thank him for it when the mosquitos spawned. He liked the ambient noise of the woods, wind in the trees, bird calls, and the growing sounds of insects as spring continued to warm. That wasn’t what he was hearing now—a voice, human, and cursing at a low volume. Stede stepped carefully out onto the wooden boards, attempting to be as quiet as possible until he knew what was happening.
The lights in the pool house were off entirely. Pete had a preference for sleeping in Lucius’s room, saying he vastly preferred the front of the house for whatever reason, so there was probably no one in the building below. Stede stayed still, listening, his eyes falling on blonde hair in the partial light. He couldn’t believe it, but of course, it had to be. Nigel Badminton was back and creeping across the lawn, a red safety canister for gas gripped in one hand.
Stede watched in horror as Nigel continued to make his way across the grass. When he’d denied him the chance to search the woods, Stede hadn’t imagined the man might return to look on his own, or worse, resort to burning things. He wished briefly that he had a weapon, but it wasn’t like he knew how to use one, and there was nothing even vaguely weapon-like to hand. Instead, he rushed down the stairs in pursuit, hoping to startle Nigel into fleeing. He sped across the lawn finding that while he’d been managing the stairs, Nigel had veered for the trees.
He halted at the sound of Stede’s pounding feet and turned around, setting the canister on the grass. He lifted his other hand to point at Stede. “I knew it. You liar. You do know where it is.”
Stede halted outside of Nigel’s reach. “Where what is?”
“The treasure. Where your father hid it.”
“What?” Stede could feel his eyebrows creeping up as his eyes widened. Maybe whatever had possessed his father really was catching. “There’s no treasure.”
“Of course there is, you nitwit! What else could your father have been hiding all this time? Telling us to stay clear. All those little hints that there was something important here. He was sitting on something big. And you pointed me in the right direction. I finally see it now.” Nigel cackled. “You revealed it to me…if it’s not in the house, it must be in the woods. No worries. I’ll just burn them a little. Then we’ll see who’s right, and who’s such a massive disappointment his own father cut him out of the loop.”
“That’s deeply specific,” Stede couldn’t stop himself from commenting. Nigel reached for the gas can. “Now, settle down there! I don’t think you can moderately burn a wood. How about we just go into the house, get a cup of tea, and we can—”
“No, thank you.” Nigel bent over and flicked open the lid on the canister, spinning around to douse the nearest tree. “Thought he could get one over on us. Hiding things in the woods, spreading those creepy little rumors! As if we wouldn’t figure it out, but we know, don’t we? Fire will tell.” He was still pouring out the gas with one hand while fumbling in his pocket with the other.
“Nigel, I don’t think you should—”
Nigel pulled out a lighter. Stede’s heart gave one great thump, an eternal moment of frozen time, and then Stede rushed him. He slammed into Nigel, attempting to shove him away from the trees, away from where he’d been pouring the gas. He collided with him at an angle as hard as he could, desperately hoping he hadn’t sparked the lighter yet.
They both thudded to the ground, but Stede’s fall was partially cushioned by the bulk of Nigel’s body, so while the impact still swept through him, he kept his breath. He stripped the lighter from Nigel’s nerveless fingers and tossed it as far as he could from the forest. Nigel still hadn’t resumed struggling, so Stede rolled off of him, crouched down in case he had to tackle him again, waiting for the man to bounce back up.
That seemed more than a little unlikely, given the sharpened stick that had—somehow, improbably—gone straight through his eye. Stede screamed, just the tiniest amount, really, and then slapped his hand over his mouth, sucking air around his fingers. He closed his eyes, and then opened them again slowly, hoping he’d made a mistake. He hadn’t. Nigel was dead, very dead, and it was Stede’s fault.
He wasn’t going to go to prison for Nigel Badminton. Once upon a time, Nigel had made Stede’s life miserable, and Stede would be damned if he let it happen a second time. He sighed, gingerly arranged the stick so it wouldn’t catch, and began dragging Nigel’s body into the trees.
Stede was sitting on the rug in his bedroom waiting for dawn. He’d done what he could last night, starting with pulling Nigel far enough into the tree line that he couldn’t be seen from the house. The bright red of the gas canister would act like a flag, marking Nigel's location for anyone who cared to look, so Stede had collected it and walked it to the trash enclosure, burying it in among the bags until he could deal with it later. He couldn’t begin to tell if there was blood in the dirt around where he’d confronted Nigel and was afraid to draw attention by checking with a flashlight.
He’d done what he’d done, but he couldn’t bear accidentally drawing Lucius into this mess as well. After he’d checked the front of the house for Nigel’s car—it wasn’t there—he returned to his room and thought about his choices. He wasn’t even sure what he needed to check for in a…in a crime scene, what would get him caught, but he knew that searching for that information on his phone would make him look just as guilty as he was.
Stede hoped there weren’t spots of Nigel’s blood on his favorite robe, but attempting to locate and wash them out would also make noise and run the risk of alerting Lucius. He stuffed it in the back of his closet to examine later. He got dressed as quietly as possible, putting on his hiking boots, tear-resistant pants, and a long-sleeve shirt for the coolness of the morning. He left his phone untouched on the nightstand. He hadn’t picked it up since last night. According to it, Stede had been asleep all night.
Now it was time to go down and assess the damage. If it was too obvious what had happened, or if he couldn’t go through with it when he saw Nigel in the light of day, he’d turn himself in. He dropped a couple of water bottles into his daypack and then very quietly stepped out onto the deck and retraced his steps.
He searched for what Nigel had banged into last night—the sound that woke Stede in the first place—looking for red paint scraped on brick or concrete. He couldn’t see a mark, and he had a moment of hopelessness knowing that he would never find and destroy all the evidence. If anyone came looking for Nigel, they’d turn up here, right where he’d spent his last day, and the traces of his death would be everywhere. Stede was fucked.
He pushed down a wave of panic and kept his eyes on the route he thought he’d taken last night. The weather had been unusually dry, and there was no mud to take prints, which was a relief. But nothing could disguise the smell of gasoline on the tree, and Stede knew spraying it down with a hose would be extremely suspicious, to Lucius and Pete, if no one else. Stede inhaled a slow breath, trying to stop the shaking of his hands. He could get rid of the gas later. It wasn’t the most suspicious thing. No, that would definitely be the body he’d left in the woods.
They’d been right at the edge of the forest, and Nigel had landed in the underbrush, which meant that at least Stede didn’t have to deal with blood smeared in grass, but there would definitely be blood in the bushes and a trail left from dragging him in. Stede lined up where they’d fallen, trying to identify the spot, but there was nothing.
He would have thought he was mistaken, but he found Nigel’s lighter on the right trajectory from where he’d tossed it. He added it to his pack, and then went back to the spot where everything else should be. There was no sign. Stede swallowed hard and walked forward into the trees where he’d entered them last night, where he’d abandoned Nigel’s body.
There were only woods. Only trees. Only brush. Unmarked dirt. He spun in a circle. There was no lump anywhere large enough to be the body of his dead childhood bully. Maybe an animal had dragged him away. Maybe Stede made a mistake, and Nigel hadn't been dead. He could have just gotten up and left. The image of the injury flashed through his brain—no, no one lived through that. Also, he’d checked Nigel’s pulse.
He was out of choices. He couldn’t have an unaccounted for body somewhere in the woods behind his house. He had to find Nigel, had to go into the woods, haunted or not. More haunted now, thanks to him. Stede threw one more searching look behind him, checking for any signs of struggle where he’d confronted Nigel last night. There was no trace.
He nodded to himself, accepting the necessity of the action. Then he took his first deliberate steps into the shadowed depths of the wood.