“Kress,” warned Jonathan Archer as he sighed again. “I am your grandfather and your caretak-”

“So what, old man. It’s not like you’re my parent or something,” retorted Kress. Huffing, he glared defiantly at his grandfather, the one who had always taken care of him since his parents died in a car crash.

“Just leave me alone. I’m not a child anymore.”

“But Kress-,” Jonathan almost whispered, unsaid words hanging in the air. He desperately searched Kress’s enraged gaze for something, something that would reassure him that Kress was still the innocent and loud boy he remembered. But Kress’s black eyes that once held compassion and innocence were no longer there. Instead, only two bottomless pits stared right back at him.

Sighing once more, Jonathan turned in his wheelchair. With his wife, son, and daughter-in-law dead and having no other relatives but Kress, Jonathan knew that Kress had to be his successor, the one next in line for the CEO position in his company. However, Kress was obsessed with money. If Kress didn’t change now, Jonathan was afraid that Kress would ruin the company and make his own life miserable. And, watching his own grandson being miserable was something Jonathan never wished to see in the future. He hoped that Kress was going through a rebellious phase and would mature in due time, though deep down he knew that the chance was very slight.

Kress stood tall and all arrogant, with blazing hatred rolling off from his muscular body. His loathing gaze seemed to pierce Jonathan’s frail body, though Kress broke the gaze as he grabbed and poured a glass of wine that had been sitting on Jonathan’s desk. Then, he offered the wine to Jonathan.

Jonathan slowly reached out with his long, wrinkly fingers to accept the wine from Kress’s grasp. With Kress watching closely, Jonathan drank everything in the glass in one, swift motion. While drinking, his silver-white hair fell onto his eyes. But through small locks of hair, Jonathan’s steady and loving gaze remained on the one and only family member he had left, Kress.

Kress met his gaze evenly.

It was midnight when Kress stood with a bloodied knife on his hand in the dark, empty basement of the mansion. Tears streaking down his face, Kress lifted the knife once again. Then, he drew a deep cut along the length of his arm, watching the blood trail down his forearm. The only way to forget or at least numb the pain he felt for his parents was cutting, as physical pain felt much better than mental pain. Watching gleefully as the blood dripped down like raindrops, Kress brought the knife to the same area of the skin and pressed harder. In the dim-lit basement, he could feel the welcoming dizziness, relishing as his mind started to get foggy and distorted.

The basement tilted in his vision, but soon his mind cleared up as the chilly wind blew against the peeling window frames. Not a single bulb was there, and the candle that Kress had brought with him hours ago lay on the cold, concrete floor. With nothing but a single candle and a man who was watching his own blood trickle down in fascination, the basement was a place of utter emptiness and desolation. Even the spiders had deserted this place, leaving behind bits and pieces of forgotten cobwebs.

And yet, Kress stood, in all his broken glory.

Licking the blood off his knife, he tilted his head as if he were a judge sentencing a criminal to death. Suddenly, though, Kress was interrupted from his thoughts as the sound of someone coughing started.

Searching the empty walls and spaces of the basement for the source of the sound, Kress realized that a racking cough came from upstairs. Curiosity took over Kress and he staggered up the way up to the 3rd floor, where Jonathan’s office was located.

Candles lit up the walls of the staircase, but the small light they gave off wavered as the dark shadow of Kress going up the stairs. Still dizzy from blood loss, Kress put one hand to the golden handrail to support his staggering self. Every time he regained his balance after losing it, his shadow against the wall tore away the already diminishing light.

As he went up, Kress could hear the coughing sound more clearly and was almost certain that it was Jonathan. A triumphant grin slowly stretched across his face in an almost animalistic way. The coughing, music to Kress’s ears, sounded awfully painful, but soon it ceased.

Grinning like a maniac now, Kress’s hands shook in excitement. It had been a year since he began purchasing and putting small doses of poison in Jonathan’s favorite wine to test its effectiveness, as he blamed his grandfather for the deaths of his parents. If only he hadn’t asked his parents to go out that fateful day, his parents would have been still alive and well. And now, giving small doses of poison hidden among the crimson wine had finally done its job. Skipping lightly, he jumped two stairs at a time to go to the office that would soon belong to him.

“-ress. My dear Kress.”

A deep scowl replaced the smile on Kress’s face, as he skidded into a halt. Leaning against the door of Jonathan’s office, he heard muffled noises. Muffled noises of someone vomiting. Incredulous that the poison had failed its task, Kress looked like a caged lion that was having a difficult time controlling his hunger for blood. Not yet, but soon it will all be over, he thought.

The next morning, the butler told Kress that he was needed in the office. Not wanting to face the still alive Jonathan and his affectionate, loving eyes, Kress claimed that he was sick. The butler didn’t budge and Kress pressed a hundred dollar bill into the butler’s hand to sway him. And yet, the butler still remained, though he did tuck the dollar bill safely in his pocket.

“I was told that Master Archer was to discuss the matters of inheritance money, you know. He knows that he is getting old and therefore nearing his end. After all, he is 70 years old, you know. And– young master?”

Kress had already left.

 “You wanted to discuss the inheritance money?” asked Kress, his eagerness obvious.

“Yes, yes, about the inheritance money. You are the heir to my company, and you are, in official documents, listed as my inheritor. But... I was thinking of giving it to charity if you don’t mind,” said Jonathan, completely ignoring Kress as his hands balled into a fist.

“Old man,” he warned, a hint of dangerousness in those two simple words.

“You should understand, Kress. Like you said, you’re not a child anymore. For God’s sake, you’re 21! Not everyone is as lucky as us, and money isn’t something people were born with, like you. So-”

Kress couldn’t take it anymore. He was wearing thin on his patience and had reached his limit.

In a flash, something glinted and Jonathan fell, blood splattering and creating a crimson pool underneath him. Kress, who was now breathing heavily from exhilaration, held the bloodied knife. Falling to his knees, Jonathan gasped for air while Kress remained standing, watching and waiting.

Staggering up, Jonathan knocked off his wheelchair. As his face twisted in pain, he fell down on the floor again, though his unwavering gaze remained on Kress. This time, he was not able to rise back up.

“You should’ve given the money to me, old man,” sneered Kress, looking indifferently at his dying grandfather. Coal-black eyes met with the dark hazel eyes that slowly lost its beautiful color.

Jonathan began to feel the numbness of his body spreading, and knew that he didn’t have much time. He looked rather fondly at his grandson, the-soon-to-be the one and only Archer in the world. Long, curly strands of midnight black hair were twisted into knots that seemed impossible to untangle, the beautiful dark chocolate eyes, and the muscled body with a slight tan all made Kress an Archer. His grandson was not a child anymore, but a full grown adult who didn’t need his care anymore. Smiling softly, Jonathan said three words with quite difficulty: “I love you.”

Jonathan’s voice was strong and powerful, unlike his fragile body. Hands trembling but maintaining a steady gaze, Jonathan smiled for the one last time.

And then he went limp.

Kress, still holding the bloodied knife, slowly walked up to Jonathan. Relishing the moment, he placed his ear on his grandfather’s chest and heard nothing. No pulse, nothing.

Chuckling, Kress grabbed a fistful of Jonathan’s clothes, threw back his head, and burst into fits of laughter maniacally. But his laugh ceased when he saw something flutter down from Jonathan’s pocket.

It was a paper. Kress recognized Jonathan’s messy handwriting almost immediately. Slowly, as he began to read what was written on the paper, he realized what it was: a will. And not just anyone’s will. It was Jonathan’s. Jonathan, who had just before declared his wishes to donate instead of giving his wealth to his grandchild. Jonathan, his own grandfather. Jonathan, the one whom he killed.

Dripping with his grandfather’s blood, Kress’ shoulders began to shake as he chuckled. His face was painted in red. Then, in his empty eyes, a single tear formed and rolled down his cheeks.

He fell to his knees, lifted his head up, and opened his mouth. But no sound came out.

So, in the dead silent room, he lay crumpled on the ground as his unfocused eyes were fixated on the white ceiling above. It was broad daylight. But even the almighty sun shied away at this moment. In its place, darkness took over and reigned.

The sky growled and rain began to fall.