We Shant Never Be Parted Now. It’s Finished @ghostofanovelwriter - Tumblr Blog

(1)

Phillip starts by hiding David’s hat.

It seemed like the obvious first step. All he has to do is grab it from the closet before the guests arrive and toss it in the trunk along with David. He ignores Brandon’s impressed expression as he fixes the tablecloth.

“Good thinking,” he tells him.

“I’m just covering all of our tracks,” he mumbled, leaving the conversation there.

But come later that evening, much to his dismay, Rupert’s suspicions do not cease. Phillip tries not to slip up like before, but even back in prep school, Rupert always knew how to hit the right nerve when he wanted information from someone. Like a bomb-sniffing dog, he stalked around him and Brandon as if waiting for one of them to slip up and admit they were hiding something.

“Strange that David’s so late tonight, isn’t it?” Rupert said in an offhand manner. But Phillip could feel him eyeing him, watching him for any reaction. Could it really be possible he can smell a guilty conscience? If anyone could, it’d be Rupert. “Even if he isn’t the most punctual fellow, you’d think he’d be on time when he knows his father and fiancee would be here.”

“Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?” Phillip replied. He shouldn’t have drunk so much; the hand holding his glass trembled slightly. “He and Janet weren’t even engaged yet.”

Rupert raised an eyebrow at him, and at once, Phillip had realized his mistake. Past tense. He had referred to David in the past tense. Fuck. Clearing his throat, he mumbled a quick excuse about checking on dessert and left the room, though he was sure Rupert was still watching him.

All it took was that one little slip-up, and Phillip was right back to being his paranoid, anxious self. He kept clamming up during conversations while Rupert was nearby, so he resigned himself to playing the piano, trying to calm his nerves.

“Stop looking so tense,” Brandon whispered into his ear as he played. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the sweat off Phillip’s brow. “You’re sweating up a storm. People will start to notice. Everything’s going splendidly, no need to worry.”

Not stopping his playing, Phillip glanced up at Rupert, who looked away, acting as though he wasn’t just watching him and Brandon conspire. “He’s onto us,” Phillip whispered back. “I just know he is.”

He didn’t have to say his name for Brandon to understand. “All the more reason to act like everything’s normal.” Brandon gave him one final squeeze on the shoulder before rejoining the guests.

***

A gunshot and a bleeding hand later, Phillip was slumped on the piano bench, cursing God for making it come to this.

Brandon and Rupert were still arguing. Well, more like Brandon was pleading to Rupert with that crazed look in his eye and stuttering away while Rupert stood there, the look of dread spreading across his face aimed at his former prized pupil. It didn’t matter anymore. It all sounds like garbled nonsense to Phillip, anyhow.

He buries his face in his arm, resting on the piano.

“Did you think you were God, Brandon?” Rupert’s voice trembled throughout the apartment as Phillip mouthed along, hearing it all before. “Is that what you thought when you choked the life from him? Is that what you thought when you served food from his grave?”

He knew this monologue like gospel now. It reels in his mind like a broken record.

“What are you doing?” Brandon demanded as Phillip whispered the words to himself.

“It's not what I'm doing, Brandon. It's what society is going to do…” Rupert said solemnly. “What that will be, I don’t know. But I can guess, and I can help...You’re going to die, Brandon. Both of you! You're going to die.”

Phillip squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for it to come. Gunshots.

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(2)

He begins ensuring Rupert doesn’t get a chance to leave anything behind.

“Don’t forget your cigarette case!” Phillip called out right before his old housemaster stepped out the door.

Phillip won’t give him the excuse to come back.

“Hm?” Rupert took a second to check his pockets, finding them missing a certain item. “Oh! Yes, thank you, Phillip. I’ll forget my own head next.”

He took the cigarette case from the outstretched hand and left. Phillip stared at the door for a few moments until he was sure he could no longer hear footsteps on the other side.

This time, it will work. After so many attempts, tonight practically felt rehearsed. Everything went smoothly—Phillip kept his calm and left no clues for Rupert to pick up on. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

So why did he still feel so anxious?

Brandon, as always, couldn’t stop smiling. “ ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ ” he said sarcastically as they headed to the living room. He gave a mocking bow. “‘Good night.’ ‘Good night.’ ‘It’s been charming.’ Phillip, this party really deserves to go down in history!”

Phillip silently poured the two of them drinks. Maybe the alcohol will get rid of this pit in his stomach.

“Well?” Brandon said, spreading out on the couch. “Don’t you think so?”

“I don’t care about the party,” Phillip said darkly as he carried Brandon’s glass to him. He downed his own drink in one go. “I’ll only be happy once we’re down at your mother’s farm.”

Brandon eyed him as he was already back at the drinks tray, pouring another glass. “Determined to get drunk, aren’t you?”

I am drunk. Phillip stopped himself before he could say those words. He had said them so often that it had become a habit, but he realized these words weren’t true. He had barely had a drink that night, determined to keep a clear mind until Rupert was out of the apartment. “I’m celebrating,” he said flatly.

“You really ought to lighten up, Philip,” Brandon said, standing up from the couch and walking up behind him. “Nobody suspected a thing.” He whispered that last part in his ear, cautious of Mrs. Wilson in the other room. “In just a few hours, we’ll be home free.”

Phillip couldn’t stand it anymore. He twirled around and hugged Brandon tightly, burying his face into his shoulder. Brandon grunted in surprise but didn’t push him away.

“Phillip? What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on the small of his back.

He almost couldn’t bear to say anything, just wanting to relish in this moment. “Let’s disappear,” Phillip said, raising his head to face Brandon. “Just the two of us. We can leave tonight like we planned. We just don’t have to come back.”

Brandon furrowed his brow, taken aback by his partner’s behavior. He glanced at the door to make sure Mrs. Wilson wasn’t nearby. “Lower your voice,” he said in a hushed tone. “What are you talking about? Of course, we can’t do that. It makes no sense. They’ll suspect us right away.”

“But Brandon—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Mrs. Wilson walked into the room, and they had to pull apart so she wouldn’t catch them hugging. After that, it was the same routine. They greeted Mrs. Wilson out the door, finally getting the apartment to themselves so they could start to clean up their crime properly.

“You know Phillip, I’ve been thinking,” Brandon said after hanging up the phone from calling the garage. “We deserve a real holiday after this is all over.” He was clearly trying to appease Phillip after his freakout from earlier. He said nothing as he walked over to the windows to draw the curtains.

“Where would you like to go? Of course, I think we really should come back here for a few days first. Otherwise, it might look a little—”

“What was that?” Phillip said, interrupting him. Through the window, he saw something flash at the bottom of the building on the sidewalk. His heart started to race. It couldn’t be…

“What was what?” Brandon said, peering out to see for himself. “Honestly, Phillip. Tell me what’s going —”

The phone rang. Phillip’s insides froze.

***

It was a ruse. He knew it was. There was Rupert on the other line, claiming to have left behind a lighter despite Phillip double-checking the apartment before the guests had left. He was lying, trying to find an excuse to return to the flat. Which meant only one thing: he knew .

“Look around, Brandon! Do you see any lighter anywhere?” Phillip half-yelled, waving his arms around. “He’s caught on! He’s lying; Rupert’s not the type to leave behind anything! Just say it isn’t here. Call him out!”

“And how will that make us look?” Brandon hissed back. “We’d practically be telling him something’s up if we don’t let him in.”

Phillip groaned. Why? Why is it that someone as brilliant as Brandon had to be so blinded whenever Rupert was in the picture? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t—

“Rupert? Come on up."

***

“—Well, that's all we've done, Rupert. That's all Phillip and I have done!” Brandon exclaimed. “He and I have lived what you and I have talked! I knew you'd understand because you have to, don't you see? You have to!”

Hope, in reality, is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the suffering of all men.

Is that why it’s so painful to watch Brandon speak to Rupert with that hopeful glint in his eye? Hope that his mentor may forgive him, even understand them for their actions?

Phillip eyed the gun in Rupert’s hands, wondering if there was any chance of catching him by surprise and taking the weapon back for himself. The possibility was weak, considering Rupert had a couple of years of military experience on him, but he was grasping at the straws.

But before Phillip could even consider pouncing on him, Rupert was already saying those cursed words.

“You’re going to die, Brandon. Both of you! You're going to die.”

Rupert fired a total of three bullets, and the room went eerily still as chaos was breaking out just on the street below. There they stood, in the same position as always, playing their respective parts.

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(3)

The table-setting. That’s where it all started. To hell with Brandon and his so-called “masterpiece.” It’s always one step too far.

“Oh, come on, Brandon. Let’s just stay in the dining room,” Phillip insisted, grabbing the candlesticks from his hands. “It’s just not practical. Mrs. Wilson will throw a fit if she sees we touched her table setting.”

“So? It’s not her party,” said Brandon, giving him a cheeky smile. “Besides, this way, no one will try and open it.”

“You’re making more trouble than what it’s worth,” Phillip argued. He jutted his lip in that way he knows makes him look upset and makes Brandon go soft on him. “Please, Brandon… it would make me feel better.”

Brandon shifted his jaw in thought. After a moment, he let out a deep exhale. “Oh, all right,” he sighed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “If you’re going to make such a fuss over it.”

Relief flooded Phillip’s chest as they returned the candlesticks to the dining room.

***

“‘The Mistletoe Bough,’ it’s called. Have you heard of it?”

This is not how it’s supposed to go. Rupert is the one who brings up the ‘Mistletoe Bough,’ not Brandon. And Rupert only brings it up because they dined in the living room, which isn’t the case now. The trunk is in the other room, out of their sight, so why is Brandon bringing up ghost stories from their school days?

“Oh, not this again,” Rupert said, chuckling lightheartedly. They all sit around the dining table in the middle of eating. “One was always turning up in the bedtime stories he told in prep school. That one in particular is your favorite, isn’t it?”

Phillip already knew the answer. He gritted his teeth. Of course, he should’ve seen this coming. It’s been this way since school. Brandon always has to show off how much more clever he is than the others. And if he can’t show off his masterpiece in the living room, he might as well brag about it in the dining room. All evening long, he keeps making one brazen remark after another, each hinting closer at where David could possibly be. And Brandon was being bolder, too, now, all because Phillip suggested a different location for dinner. Not even different, the same!

Brandon gave his devilish smile. “But, of course,” he said, answering Rupert’s question. “I mean, it’s just so macabre, isn’t it? Just the thing for a young boy to enjoy at night.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me,” Janet chimed in curiously. “What’s the ‘Mistletoe Bough?’”

“It’s this story,” Brandon explained.

“It’s unimportant,” said Phillip, interrupting before he could say more. He should’ve realized sooner. Rupert may be observant, yes, but what need is there for that when Brandon is so eager to give away the entire ruse himself? Even when it comes to murder, all Brandon can think about is impressing his mentor. “It’s childish.”

“Oh goody, that’s my favorite kind,” Mrs. Atwater said. “Go on, dear. Tell us the story.”

“Well, it’s about this lovely young woman—”

“Brandon!” Phillip interjected.

“She was a bride-to-be,” Mr. Kentley suddenly continued as he fixed his glasses. No one seemed to notice Phillip’s small outburst. Nobody except Brandon and Rupert that is. “On her wedding day, she playfully hid herself in a chest. Unfortunately, it had a spring lock. Fifty years later, they found her skeleton.”

The sound of shattered glass captured everyone’s attention. Phillip looked down at his hand— once again, he had accidentally snapped his glass into two.

“Oh, dear. Your glass!” Mrs. Atwater exclaimed. “You’ve hurt yourself, boy. Your hand’s bleeding!”

Phillip held his hand tenderly, keeping it away so the blood wouldn’t stain the tablecloth. “It’s just a cut, that’s all,” he assured, glad for the change in subject.

“What on earth happened?” Brandon said, frowning deeply. He never liked seeing Phillip hurt. Not in the usual way. He always acted like it was a personal offense whenever any sort of injury burdened Phillip’s body.

Especially with his hands. He always gave special attention to Phillip’s hands.

“Your hands are your livelihood,” Brandon had told him once in bed. He pressed a gentle kiss on the tips of his fingers. “They’re what makes you special. We need to make sure to keep them safe.”

“Nothing,” Phillip lied, avoiding eye contact. Mr. Kentley, who was sitting next to him, offered his handkerchief, which he took. “Thank you. The glass was cracked, and it broke, that’s all.”

“We’ll go to the bathroom,” Brandon announced, standing up from his seat. “We keep the bandages there. Come on, Phillip.”

“It’s really fine,” Phillip mumbled but allowed himself to be dragged into the bathroom that was attached to their bedroom.

Brandon dug around the cupboard to find the first aid kit as Phillip took a seat on the toilet lid. “Honestly, and you call yourself a grown man,” Brandon complained as he turned on the faucet. Gently, he directed Phillip’s hand to the sink, wincing alongside him as the warm stream of water cleaned his cut.

“I’m sorry.”

“You really should be more careful,” Brandon nagged, drying off his hand with a hand towel. He took out one of the plasters from the kit and began tenderly applying it to the palm of Phillip’s injured hand. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Why did you have to go and tell that story?” Phillip said, feeling the frustration bubble up again. Brandon raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is that what this is all about?” He let out a giddy laugh. “Please, Phillip! As if anybody could piece together what I was referring to! Now it just looks like you’ve made a big deal out of nothing.”

“Maybe not. But all those comments you’ve been making, too. It’s like you want us to get caught!” Phillip could still picture Rupert’s stare, peering deep into the truths of his soul.

“You don’t need to worry; I won’t let that happen,” Brandon said, cupping his cheek. “Just a couple more hours. Then we’ll be on our way to Mother’s farm. Don’t you see, Phillip? It’s going all according to plan!”

Phillip gazed up at him, saying nothing.

***

It all goes according to plan. But maybe that’s the problem. The party goes on, David never appears, and everyone leaves worried. Living room or dining room, Rupert will always get suspicious. It doesn’t matter how many hats Phillip hides or cigarette cases he picks up, Rupert will always find a way back, or Brandon always lets him.

And it always ends up in the same place.

If only he could cover his ears, but that still wouldn’t stop Rupert’s insufferable voice ringing in his ears.

“You’re going to die, Brandon. Both of you! You're going to die.”

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(4)

“Please, Brandon, just pretend we’re not home!”

Phillip pleaded with him. Begged. Shook him by the shoulders with desperation in his voice. He didn’t care anymore about how pathetic he sounded. He just wanted it all to be over. At this point, Phillip’s lost count of how many times he’s failed, but he’ll continue to try until he and Brandon are finally free from this nightmare.

“With all these lights on?” Brandon said, sounding exasperated with him. “Answer it, Phillip.”

“I don’t want to,” he said, shaking his head. “You and I both know it’s not the garage man or Mrs. Wilson. Just this once, ignore it .”

“What’s going on with you? You’re not normally like this.”

“I’m not normally a murderer either!”

“You’re behaving like a child,” Brandon huffed.

Phillip shook his head. He just didn’t get it. It always goes downhill once that doorbell rings. Once they let Rupert back into the apartment. He ruins everything. If only he weren’t in the picture, they could be free.

“Look at the time,” Phillip said, trying his best to reason as doorbell rang for the umpteenth time. “It’s late. Whoever it is, they’ll understand.”

“Use your head,” Brandon chastised, stacking the books back on the trunk. “How will that look on us when the police start investigating in a couple of days? Our alibis will mean squat just because of that one window of time somebody couldn’t reach us!”

Brandon began making his way to the phone, and in a last ditch attempt, Phillip grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back, pressing their lips together.

Just forget about Rupert , Phillip thought to himself as he locked himself in a desperate kiss with the man he loves. He held Brandon’s sleeves tightly in his fists as he felt a hand bury itself in his hair. You don’t need him. You have us now.

If only they could stay like this forever, and let the rest of the world fade away. He let Brandon lick into his mouth for a few moments before beginning to drag his teeth along his jaw and down his neck. Brandon held him close by the waist so Phillip took this as a chance to place his thigh in between his legs and roll his hips, iinciting Brandon to groan.

“That’s enough,” he said suddenly, breaking the kiss and pulling away, breathless. His lips were a bright pink and his clothes a little ruffled and Phillip could only assume he looked the same. “You’re playing mean, now, Phillip. And now we’ve made our person wait.”

Brandon fixed himself as quickly and neatly as possible and gestured for Phillip to do the same as he went to the phone.

“Brandon, wait—” It was too late.

***

Phillip couldn’t tell who he was angrier at. Rupert, for having to be the condescending egoist that can’t mind his own business and always acting all high-and-mighty each time he turns the two of them to the police. Or Brandon, who’s as equally haughty and always has to show off his games to Rupert, which every time, without fail, becomes their ultimate downfall.

“You’re going to die, Brandon. Both of you! You're going to die.”

At this point, dying would be a bliss.

Three shots fire.

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(5)

He hid the gun from Brandon.

Not because he thought it was too dangerous. Not because it would’ve stopped Rupert from figuring it out. But because he decided it was about time to take matters into his own hands.

He’s had enough. This time, he would finish the job himself.

Phillip aimed the gun at Rupert. He would kill him tonight; he was sure of it. All those times before, he had hesitated, partly out of drunkenness and mainly out of fear for his own mortality, but tonight, he was sober as a priest and had nothing left to lose anymore. Did he ever? His hands have been tainted from the very beginning.

Rupert was holding his hands in the air. The sight was so ridiculous it almost made Phillip want to laugh aloud. Imagine, the Rupert Cadell at his mercy. Oh, how the tables turn.

“Now, Phillip,” Rupert said calmly as if the gun aimed at him didn’t affect him. His voice was steady, no more different than when he would chastise a student for sneaking around after curfew. “I hope you’ve thought this through.”

“Of course, he hasn’t. Rupert, Phillip just isn’t in his right state of mind right now,” Brandon said hurriedly. For the first time, he looked unsure of himself. He looked to Phillip and hissed, “What do you think you’re doing? You’ll get yourself killed, Phillip. Just hand that over and—”

“Oh, shut it!” Phillip snapped, jerking the gun, causing both Rupert and Brandon to clamp their mouths closed. “Both of you! For once in your lives, just shut it!” He glared at Rupert with menace in his eyes.

“This is all your fault. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you!”

Now the realization was clear. The very thing Phillip should’ve done at the beginning to prevent it all from going down: from the start, they had chosen the wrong victim. David didn’t deserve to die, Rupert did. He was the root of all their problems.

His words still didn’t seem to faze Rupert. “I’m sorry you think that way.” His voice was soft but was like a grating instrument inside Phillip’s skull. “But there’s nothing I did that could’ve lead you to try something like this—”

This time, Phillip really did laugh. He laughed harder than he had all night. All of these nights. Brandon and Rupert stared at him as if he had lost his minds. Maybe he had.

“Nothing you did,” Phillip said with a cruel scoff. “They may not hang men for crimes like yours, Rupert, but that doesn’t make you any less guilty than Brandon and I!”

“Phillip!” Brandon snapped. “Watch your mouth!”

“I won’t!” Phillip shot back. “I’ve had my fill of it! I’ve watched my tongue for too long now and nobody ever listens! Not even you, Brandon. Well, not this time!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rupert begin to open his mouth.

No. He wouldn’t let him get the last word in like he always did. Using that silver tongue of his to always get what he wanted. As if reading his mind, Brandon immediately tried to step in.

“Phillip, no—” He pulled the trigger.

Bang!

Three shots fired. Only this time, they hit a target. And finally, there was quiet.

Brandon stumbled backwards, collapsing on the chair, looking horrified at what Phillip had done. Rupert’s blood had already begun to pool on the floor and Phillip had never seen such a serene expression on his old housemaster’s face.

In that moment, he understood what Brandon had meant when he had asked how he felt when they killed David earlier that even. What he said about feeling tremendously exhilarated.

Of course they’ll be caught this time. He won’t try to disguise that. But, oh, to be caught on his own terms for once. That was its own form of freedom.

The sirens blared outside the window. Phillip watched as the clock on the wall showed the time: 12:01 am.

(+1)

“Inmate no. 9305, you may enter.”

They led Phillip into the room, smaller and cleaner than he expected. Brighter lights too.

The chains around his wrist which he had gotten used to had never felt heavier to drag than during that short distance from the door to the chair.

It was chilly. He still wasn’t used to the shaved haircut they had given him just hours prior. Phillip barely recognized himself in the large mirror that covered the wall in front of him as they strapped him down. He suspected that it was one-way, meaning there was probably a crowd of people watching him on the other side. A part of him wished to see them if only to be able to make eye contact with another human being rather than his own reflection. Even the guards in the room with him wouldn’t meet him in the eye. The only sounds in the room was the uncomfortable shuffling of feet as they prepared him.

It had been a longtime since he had felt the company of another human being. They had executed Brandon just a couple months ago. Though, it hardly mattered—they had been kept in separate prisons since their convictions. If there was any sort of comfort he could take from this, at least he could die knowing he would be reunited with his love soon.

Phillip thought he would’ve cried. He thought he would’ve screamed or struggled. Anything. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, anymore. All that mattered was lost now.

As the final touch, they put a blindfold over his eyes. A kindness he was grateful for, since it meant his final view didn’t have to be staring at that gaunt face of his that had once been so naive but happy.

Phillip could still move his fingers, so he began tapping against the arm of his chair. And perhaps out of memory or out of instinct, he begins playing Mouvement Perpétuel No 1. by Francis Poulenc. More than fresh food or soft linens, the one thing he missed the most since imprisonment was his piano. Even if it wasn’t real, it brought him a little comfort.

But in the end, old habits still died hard and human nature always prevails. Phillip’s mind reeled as though it hadn’t been turning to mush sitting in a cell all day. He thought about that day. That evening. That party. Could it have gone differently? Could he have saved them both? It was like time had stood still for him since that day, and he was still in that living room. Reliving those fleeting moments over and over again, trapping himself in his own version of purgatory.

However, eventually, different questions took over Phillip’s mind. Questions about his impending fate. Would it hurt? Would it be quick? Would they even give him a warning?

He did not have to ponder for long, because just a couple moment after the guards had properly made their way out the room, he felt it.

In a split second, there was only silence. Phillip did not even hear his screams echoing in the room.

***

Outside the room, the warden looks at his watch to check the time.

Phillip Morgan, age 32, executed by the electric chair on January 28, 1960, for the murder of David Kentley. Time of death: 12:01 am.

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