Fulfilled Her Wish, Drove Her Insane
Aidan! Must you ruin Jackson's birthday? Celeste, the billionaire heiress, glared down at me, fresh from throwing a multi-million dollar party for the boy she raised as our brother. Her voice was ice. "See how hard life is? This is what you deserve."
"Your five-year exile ends next month. I'll bring you home and give you the best lifeon one condition: never harm Jackson again."
Blinking through blurred vision, I let out a hollow laugh. Her face had always been indistinct, a mere source of pain. "I wont," I murmured.
She neednt worry about Jackson anymore. And I wouldnt be going home.
With terminal brain cancer, living another month was a luxury I couldnt afford.
I choked down the bitter mouthful of cake. I knew she couldn't stand the sight of me, so I scrambled to my feet, trying to get my lame leg under me, wanting only to disappear. But the cancer had spread to my optic nerves, and the world was a murky haze. I had to bend low, my hands sweeping the ground in front of me as I shuffled forward.
A burst of laughter echoed from behind me. It was Celeste's friends.
"God, he's really laying it on thick with the whole crippled beggar act. Anything to make Celeste feel sorry for him and take him home early."
"It's pathetic. He has no shame, doing this in public."
"Seriously. Celeste is a titan of industry. He's such an embarrassment to her."
I could feel the heat of Celeste's humiliation, even from a distance. Her voice, when it came, was low and seething with rage. "Aidan, I said one month. Not a day less. Don't even think about it."
She added, her voice dripping with scorn, "Besides, I paid them to treat you well. You might have had it a little rough, but there's no way you'd end up like this. Your act is disgusting."
I froze. Treat me well?
The memories, sharp and jagged, tore through my mind. But I just shook my head, a faint smile on my lips, and kept moving. I'd only taken a few steps when someone blocked my path.
"Aidan, wait!"
The voice was familiar. Even without seeing his face, I knew it was Jackson. He pressed a perfect, untouched slice of cake into my hand. Then he took both of my hands in his, his smile as soft as his grip was cruel, his fingernails digging deep into my flesh.
"It's my birthday, so I forgive you for everything that happened," he said, his voice a sweet poison. "I just hope that when you come home, we can finally get along."
The kinder his smile, the deeper his nails sank, until I felt the warm trickle of blood. But I didn't cry out. No one would care. No one would believe me. I just took the cake, my only thought to get away from them, to hoard what little time I had left.
Back in my makeshift bed under the bridge, I fumbled for the nearly-expired painkillers, swallowing a handful to dull the throbbing in my head. A bitter wind howled through the concrete archway, and I pulled my thin, threadbare shirt tighter around my skeletal frame.
Just then, a large van pulled up. A loudspeaker blared to life.
"With the sudden drop in temperature, our own Ms. Blackwood is here to share some warmth! Come and get your winter coats and blankets!"
A spark of life ignited in the eyes of the dozens of homeless people huddled under the bridge. They scrambled to form a line. My head pounded, but I dragged myself to the very end of it.
When my turn finally came, the volunteer looked at me, then down at a photo on his phone. He waved a dismissive hand.
"Sorry. Ms. Blackwood gave specific instructions. Nothing for you."
He sneered, his lip curling in disgust. "She's a famous philanthropist, a living saint. She helps every down-and-out person she can. You must be a special kind of scum for her to single you out like this."
I pressed my lips together. I had expected it, but the absurdity still made me want to laugh.
Celeste Blackwood, winner of the Global Philanthropist of the Year award.
The woman who, out of the goodness of her heart, had kept Jackson in the lap of luxury even after discovering he wasn't her real brother.
The woman who donated millions to charities across the globe, earning endless praise for her kindness.
But she wouldn't spare a single life-saving blanket for her own flesh and blood.
The cold was too intense to sleep, so I decided to move around, to try and generate some warmth. As I stood up, I saw him: a small boy, his mouth covered by the hand of a large, burly man who was dragging him away.
I knew that scene. I knew that man. He was a trafficker.
Without thinking, ignoring the searing pain in my skull, I lunged forward and sank my teeth into the man's wrist, tasting blood. I kicked and punched with all my might, but my illness had wasted me away to skin and bones. He was too strong.
He saved the boy, but it cost me a broken rib.
Somehow, I barely felt the pain. I just looked at the boy, safe and sound, and started to laugh. The laughter turned to sobs, tears streaming down my face.
No one, no one, knew better than me which was worse: being a beggar, or being one of the trafficked.
Five years ago, on Jackson's birthday.
It had all started with a single, tearful lie from him. "Celeste! Aidan called me a fake! He said I stole his life, and he was going to sell me to traffickers!"
Just then, the security guards dragged a shifty-looking man out of the gardens. He swore up and down that I had paid him to kidnap Jackson.
I tried to deny it, but Celeste wouldn't listen. Her eyes were red with fury as she struck me across the face, the sound echoing in the cavernous hall. "I thought if I spoiled you enough, I could erase the bad habits you picked up. But I just made you more vicious, more cruel!" she screamed. "Before Mom and Dad died, I promised them I'd raise you right. If kindness won't work, then you'll have to learn the hard way!"
On the first day after she gave me to them, they broke my leg and sold me to a sweatshop. I'd often work for two days straight with nothing to eat. They even sold me to a traveling circus, where I was kept in a cage, an animal for the crowds to gawk at. I was less than a dog.
Once, I managed to steal a phone and call her, crying, begging her to take me home.
Her voice was unyielding. "I promised Jackson you'd suffer for five full years. That's the only way to break your spirit so you'll never dare to bully him again."
Jackson. Always Jackson.
From the very first day she brought me home from the orphanage, he had framed me, time and time again. And every time, she took his side. In her eyes, I became a monster.
After that call, I shattered. I never again dared to hope for the love I had lost. I just became numb, letting them do whatever they wanted to me.
Until one night, the crate they kept me in was left unlocked. I tumbled out and rolled down a hillside to freedom. Terrified of being caught, I never tried to find work, never showed my face. I begged, collected bottles, and scraped together just enough money to see a doctor about my old injuries.
That was when they found the cancer. Terminal.
The little boy I'd saved gently touched my face, wiping away my tears. He draped half of his new, thick blanket over my shoulders, and we huddled together for warmth.
Suddenly, a massive screen on a skyscraper across the river lit up with the evening news.
"Billionaire Celeste Blackwood purchases a one-hundred-million-dollar estate in a premier European country for her brother! A true philanthropist whose kindness continues to fuel her incredible success!"
The little boy stared at the mansion on the screen, then looked up at me with innocent eyes. "Mister, does everyone get to have a home? I hope you and I both get a home someday."
I froze.
A home?
The orphanage had been a home for all of us kids. When I was found, the Blackwood mansion was Jackson's home.
And now, with my life ticking away, all I wanted was a place that was truly my own, even in death.
So I started working. Day and night, I collected recyclables, sold scrap, did any odd job I could find, no matter how grueling. I finally saved enough for a deposit on a small burial plot.
My body was failing. There were whole days I'd drift in and out of consciousness. I knew I could die at any moment, and I still owed the final payment on my grave.
As I was despairing, a woman on the street handed me a flyer. "Check this out. A mystery CEO is hosting a yacht party tonight. They're hiring people to shine shoes for the rich ladies. Easy work, pays a few hundred for the night." She winked. "And the best part? Some of those rich folks tip, and they tip big." She held up four fingers.
I looked at her hand, then took the flyer. At this point, any paying work was a blessing.
I boarded a bus with the other workers and was taken to the marina.
From the moment I stepped onto that gleaming yacht, I was on my knees. I knelt by the entrance, shining an endless parade of expensive shoes. The woman hadn't been lying. Some of the wealthy guests would carelessly toss a tip my way that was more than I'd made in a month.
I lost track of time until a sudden cheer went up from the crowd. "Here he is! The man of the hour!"
I kept my head down, reaching for the next pair of shoes, but a polished loafer kicked the rag from my hand.
A familiar voice sneered down at me. "Aidan! God, you are pathetic. Is there any degrading stunt you won't pull to get my attention?" It was Celeste. "You have three days left. Couldn't you even wait that long?"
I looked up and finally understood. This was a party she was throwing for Jackson. She was glaring at me, her face a mask of shame and fury. Her fists were clenched, but in the end, she just spat a curse under her breath and stormed inside.
The sounds of celebration drifted out from the main deck. I just sat there, counting the crumpled bills in my hand. It was just enough. I had just enough for the final payment.
I quickly called the cemetery director. But as I gave him my information, he sounded confused.
"Aidan Blackwood? I'm sorry, I can't find you in the system. Your legal identity has been voided. You can't make the purchase."
"What? That's impossible! Did you spell it right? Can you please check again?"
The man, hearing the frantic desperation in my voice, kindly made a few inquiries. He came back on the line a moment later, his voice soft with pity. "The records office says your identity was legally dissolved by a compulsory order... filed by the billionaire, Celeste Blackwood."
The phone slipped from my numb fingers and clattered onto the deck. My eyes burned.
Why? Why couldn't she even let me die in peace? Was she really so determined to protect Jackson that she would erase my very existence?
A roar filled my ears. I stumbled to my feet and burst into the party.
"Celeste!"
The music screeched to a halt. Every head turned.
"Why did you do it? Why did you erase me?" I screamed, my voice raw. "Don't I even have the right to exist?"
Celeste slowly swirled the wine in her glass, her expression unreadable. "You're capable of any despicable trick to make me feel sorry for you. Who knows what you'd do to Jackson once you were back in the house? If you have no legal identity, you're powerless." She took a sip. "But don't worry. I'm still your sister. I'll take care of you. I'll keep you safe for the rest of your life."
A hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest. Keep me safe? She was the one killing me.
Jackson, ever the dutiful son, gently patted her back. He glanced at the money I was still clutching. "Aidan, why do you insist on doing these... degrading things? Is there anything Celeste wouldn't give you? If you hadn't broken her heart and embarrassed her, she wouldn't have had to do this."
He walked over, snatched the cash from my hand, and with a theatrical flourish, scattered it into the wind.
I was too stunned to react. I reached out, my fingers grasping at the air as my life's savings, my final dignity, fluttered down into the dark ocean, instantly soaked and lost.
Jackson smiled, as if he had just performed a great act of charity. "This dirty money, it's not fit for anything. Let's return it to nature. Maybe it will purify you a little, too."
I stared, empty-eyed, at the dark water. He could enjoy the life Celeste gave him without a second thought, but the money I earned with my own two hands was "dirty."
His smug, condescending laugh echoed in my ears, and something inside me finally snapped. I spun around, my fist raised. "That was mine! You had no right"
Before my hand could even get close, Jackson threw himself backward, tumbling over the railing and into the sea.
Celeste's eyes went wide with terror. Without a moment's hesitation, she dove in after him.
A moment later, she was hauling him back onto the deck, frantically calling for an ambulance while performing CPR. Finally, Jackson coughed up a lungful of seawater, his eyes fluttering open.
"Aidan," he whispered, his voice weak and full of false sorrow. "I was only trying to fix things between you and Celeste... why... why did you have to try and kill me?"
"Celeste, I see it now. He'll never accept me. If it's a choice between me leaving or me dying... please, just let me go."
Celeste looked like her heart was being ripped from her chest. She shot to her feet and, turning on me, slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side.
"Aidan! Have you learned nothing in five years?" she shrieked, her voice filled with a pain that was all for him. "Pulling pathetic stunts to get my attention is one thing, but how dare you try to harm Jackson?"
"No," I whispered, shaking my head, helpless and dazed. "It wasn't me..."
But the look in her eyes was the same as it had always been. A wall of disappointment and disgust. I should have known. When it came to Jackson, she would never, ever believe me.
My cheek burned, the words of my defense dying in my throat. But then, a strange impulse took over, and I looked at Celeste, my voice barely a whisper. "If I died, you'd be happy, wouldn't you?"
She heard me. A cold sneer twisted her lips. "If you really died, I'd pop champagne to celebrate."
I stood frozen as the world around me dissolved into a blurry tableau of people fussing over Jackson. I was an island in a sea of their concern, utterly alone.
I lowered my head. "Then you'll get your wish soon..." I murmured.
She didn't hear me clearly and turned to ask what I'd said, but all she saw was my lonely, limping figure disappearing into the shadows. A strange, unsettling feeling pricked at Celeste's heart, but it was quickly forgotten as Jackson pulled her back into his world with a sweet chorus of "Celeste."
To make up for Jackson's "ordeal," the yacht party was extended for another week. I couldn't get off the boat. I found a dark corner and curled into a ball, the sounds of their laughter and music lulling me into a deep, final sleep.
A week later, after much hesitation, Celeste decided it was time to bring Aidan home. She would have a real talk with him, set things straight. But as she was making the arrangements, her phone rang. It was the yacht's cleaning crew supervisor, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
"Ms. Blackwood, the... the boy who was shining shoes... he's dead. We just found him. He's... he's been here for a while."
The expression on Celeste's face froze. The phone slipped from her grasp, and she barely caught it. It took a long moment for her to command her voice, to force a semblance of calm.
"Which boy? There were dozens of workers. Be specific."
She had heard him. "The boy who was shining shoes." And she knew. She knew Aidan was the only one. But maybe... maybe the cleaner was mistaken.
The voice on the other end, holding back a gag, said, "He's young... but the body is... it's hard to tell what he looked like. But... he's wearing a silver locket. It's engraved with the letter 'B'..."
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